


Indiana Jones and the First Crusade

by Puzzled



Category: Indiana Jones Series, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), RWBY
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Historical, Multiple Crossovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7505338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puzzled/pseuds/Puzzled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Indiana Jones was searching for the Ark of the Covenant.  After a mishap in the map room the Ark wasn't the only thing lost to time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Indy I

_Tanis, 1936_  
  
The chamber was already sweltering. Indy had been in enough deserts to know how cold they could get at night, but the sun was up and so was the temperature. He’d hoped that the rock walls would hold the cold air in, but failing that he was going to have to endure it. With the carefully measured staff in hand he looked over the sandy chamber. The footsteps of the Nazis were evident, Belloq had led them well enough.  
  
He set the stick down, the inscriptions indicating the slot he needed had been covered back up since the Frenchman had come through, the desert already trying to reclaim the buried chamber. Sweeping the grit away he compared the hieroglyphics with the ones Sallah’s contact had given him, luckily the characters had been carved deep enough to remain sharp after uncounted centuries. He found the set that matched, and cleaned out the peg hole for the Staff of Ra.  
  
The wooden rod slotted in satisfyingly, it was awfully considerate of the Egyptians to have the same diameter hole as the dowel he’d picked, and the sun was nearly in position. They’d cut it close, but they’d made it. All it would take was a bit of waiting, a bit of digging, and a bit of running and he’d have the Ark where it belonged, in a museum.  
  
With thoughts of glory and a cheering crowd that had Marion in the front row celebrating the greatest archaeological find in centuries, the time until the sun lined up passed quickly, almost too quickly. The circle of the sun shifted and finally reached the top of the staff. The amber at the center of the headpiece caught the sun and sent a beam of light across the model of the city. It wasn’t focused yet, still diffuse, but it lit the tomb brilliantly, a light that only grew more intense as the beam tightened.  
  
Indy could see the building where the ray would reach a point, when the Ark would be his, and then it did. The chamber shone- there must have been some sort of gem hidden to reflect it- the sun’s rays were far too intense - he was forced to shut his eyes to avoid blindness.  
  
He waited a few seconds after the light died down to open his eyes- then he closed them again. The light was gone, all of it. He’d somehow gone from a room filled with blinding light to a pitch black void- the only constant was the sand at his feet and the staff in his hand.  
  
“Sallah!” Maybe his friend had sealed the entrance, he thought he’d have heard the moving stone but he was the easy explanation. “This isn’t funny!” He waited a moment, then realized that if Sallah had done it he’d have a reason, maybe Nazis to hide from. Besides the joke would have been old after twenty seconds, this had been longer.  
  
Momentarily giving up on rescue Indy groped blindly through his satchel. He had quite a bit of stuff in there- and he found the matches. His adventurous childhood had given him many skills and revealed more talents, one thing that was always tricky was lighting a book of matches in the complete darkness without burning yourself. Luckily this wasn’t his first rodeo, and he managed it on his first try.  
  
He promptly dropped the match though, the tiny flame dying as it fell onto the sand. Its light had revealed two things. First, he wasn’t in the map room. Second, and far more importantly the ground was covered in snakes.  
  
Inwardly cursing he fought the urge to just stay still and hope for rescue. That hope would get him nothing, and now that he knew they were there he could hear them. Dead-eyed reptiles slithering around looking for their next warm-blooded meal, one of which was conveniently in their living room.  
  
He’d gotten a brief glimpse of the platform he was on before the match sputtered out. What he saw had been empty, but he hadn’t looked behind him. He needed a fire, some more permanent source of light, then he could start to worry about the snakes and whatever had happened to him.  
  
Carefully putting the matches back in his bag, they’d instantly become his most important possession, he pulled his notebook free. The last thirty or so pages were blank, he ripped out a few of them, wincing at the thought of the snakes coming to investigate the noise. The sudden surge of fear spurred him on, he rapidly unwound his turban and folded the papers into the center of its folds. Awkwardly holding the ungainly bundle he pulled the matches free, he needed this to work, and after two tries managed to get one to light.  
  
The flame showed a snake at his his heel, he nearly dropped everything in his haste to crush it, but somehow despite his frantic movements the match was still burning. The papers caught easily, and the fire spread slowly to the thick cloth of his turban. Holding the burning cloth carefully he set it down at his feet and took the first look around the chamber.  
  
There were snakes, hundreds of them. Keeping a wary eye on the one he’d killed, it was still twitching at his feet, Indy did a slow scan of the room. The walls were covered in carvings and hieroglyphics, but they paled in comparison to the statues of Anubis dominating the room. There was no exit visible though, and the optimism that had filled him from his success with the fire was quickly vanishing. He’d gotten so far, done so much and here he was, trapped in hidden chamber surrounded by snakes that even now were flooding- they must be getting in through the walls.  
  
Desperately searching for evidence for his last ditch hope he was rewarded. He watched a long black snake slither free of a hole in the wall, falling the last few feet to join its comrades. It was coming from somewhere, they couldn’t emerge from solid stone and it wasn’t like there was enough water in Tanis to erode a channel. The wall was hollow, it had to be, the alternative was unthinkable. Of course that still left the problem of getting out. Smashing through stone was not a talent he had, and he only had minutes before the light of his burning turban guttered out.  
  
The room was featureless, it had the statues and snakes but nothing to be used as a ram, well except for the statues. The room he was in was old, the mortar for the statues’ bases would be old and dry. If he got up top he’d have enough leverage to try to topple one, but he’d only get one try.  
  
Pulling out his whip, despite appearances and occasional mockery it was an extremely useful tool, and gave it a few test swings. Resisting the urge to crack it, partially out of fear of attracting the snakes’ attention, Indy lashed it up towards the statue, and it held. From his exploratory tugs it seemed he’d managed to get a firm grip on the jaw of the statue. He almost started to climb immediately, but the headpiece caught his eye, flashing in the firelight. Wherever he was he didn’t want to lose the treasure he’d gone so far for. He pulled it free from the staff, then broke the staff over his knee and threw the pieces on his fire. It might buy a few more minutes of light.  
  
Climbing up was easy, the alternative of staying in the chamber until his last match went out and the snakes moved in was immensely motivating. Just before reaching the jaw he had the image of a snake waiting for him, but it was thankfully empty. Securing himself atop the statue he began to rock it, as he’d hoped there was some give.  
  
He strained against the centuries old masonry, he could hear it creak, feel it moving as below him his fire burned ever lower. It collapsed the same way people went bankrupt, gradually then suddenly. The head of Anubis smashed the wall, splitting it asunder as Indy scrambled to stay atop it. He looked back, his fire was across yards of snakes, and there was only darkness ahead of him. Ripping free another piece of paper he tightly wound it then lit it, forward into the breach.  
  
There were no snakes in the revealed hallway, the crashing must have driven them into hiding. There were mummies though, the crash had knocked them from their sarcophaguses and he carefully stepped over their desiccated remains. Normally he’d have been interested in them, their death shrouds were often full of clues about their lives, but something else was far more important. He saw light, a thin ray, but it promised the sky. Clambering up the wall he set his shoulder against the rock. With daylight ahead of him he was able to rock the stone free.When it toppled he followed it, spilling out of the tomb into the light of day.  
  
A different day then what he’d hoped for, there was no sign of the dig. No Sallah, no Germans, no life. Just the sun, the desert and sandswept hills. He’d seen some things, but whatever had happened in the map room was beyond all of it. He was removed from his friends, from his supplies, and all he had to navigate the desert was what he had on him. Well at least his father wasn’t with him.


	2. Indy II

Walking west through the desert wasn’t much fun. Burning his turban had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now with the sun beating down on him he was regretting it. He was half thinking about doubling back to the tomb and waiting for nightfall, but he knew the pitfalls of navigating open country. He might not even be able to find the small hole in the hill, and then he’d have wasted the whole morning and however long it took before he gave up searching.   
  
No, if he went west he’d find civilization, and despite the sun it wasn’t that bad, in the mid seventies if he had to guess. That was another strange thing, it had been the heart of summer when he’d gone into the tomb, but now it was at least twenty degrees cooler than it had been yesterday. It was one of many things he’d been ignoring, like the possibility that wherever he was wasn’t even in Egypt and he was walking through a desert towards nothing.  
  
There were tracks though, and the ground he was on was beaten down enough to suggest at least some traffic. No wheels, camel, horses and footprints, but they were going the same way he was, so there was something out there. Indy just wanted to get there before he ran out of water, he had about half his canteen left and that would only be good for another hour or two, especially if the heat got worse.  
  
Thankfully after another mile or three down the road he saw movement. Travellers, horsemen coming towards him. He checked his revolver, unbuttoning his holster as subtly as he could manage, they’d seen him. They kept riding until they slowed and came together into a knot about a hundred yards away, each of them occasionally looking up, obviously talking about him.  
  
After a minute they broke up their huddle and rode forward, he could see swords but none of them had guns, possibly Bedouin then, from the deep deserts. It wasn’t a great explanation, but nothing else came to mind as they reined their horses in, looking at him curiously. One of them, with their heads covered and their flowing robes they were mostly indistinguishable even if he had met them, rode forward from the group .  
  
“Who are you?” It was Arabic, but accented strangely, like none he’d ever heard. He knew enough of the language to get by though, consequence of an adventurous life. “Well? What’s your business here?”  
  
It was an obvious question, and one he had no idea how to answer. Telling the truth seemed to risk being set on fire, or whatever Bedouins did to suspected witches, but any alibi he made would be full of holes.   
  
“I’m Indiana Jones.” He didn’t see any recognition, not that he really expected any. Ned would have gotten a reaction he was sure, but no one remembered the hero’s friends. “And I’m lost.”  
  
“Well you’re halfway to the river from the ruins of Tanis, Indiana Jones,” the rider’s mouth twisted over his name, the pronunciation foreign to him. “And being lost is no one’s business.” The man’s companions straightened at that, their hands drifting towards hilts. “What brought you so far into the desert?”  
  
Indy’s hand was on his revolver’s grip, he had six shots, reloading wouldn’t be happening in a scuffle. He’d need to make them count if he couldn’t defuse the situation. Of course if they were going to be violent anyways there was no reason to lie. “I got dropped into a tomb in a-” he struggled to find the words, “flash of light? About five miles back that way.” He gestured with his left hand, keeping his eyes locked on them.   
  
“A flash of light?” There was a hint of what Indy thought was skepticism, and perhaps confusion. Hopefully he’d used the right words. “And if we traveled back would we find this tomb? Or perhaps you’d like to find a better story?”  
  
“Look, all I want to do is get back to Cairo.” He could find Sallah- wait if he was near Tanis where was everyone? The dig site, the Nazis, all of them. The things he’d been ignoring flooded back in and all of a sudden he had little patience for the riders. “I’m going to the river and then down to Cairo, either try to stop me or get out of my way.”  
  
“Surely you won’t object to showing us this tomb.” The rider exchanged another look with his men. “If you’re telling the truth we’ll give you a horse and you can ride with us to Cairo.”  
  
He didn’t trust them further than he could throw them, but fighting five horsemen on open ground didn’t appeal to him. If they were going to throw down the more varied terrain of Tanis would hinder the horses more. “Fine.”  
  
It had been half an hour of retracing his footsteps before the Bedouin or whomever’s leader spoke again.  
  
“What sort of name is Indiana Jones?” The other riders looked interested as well, it wasn’t like there was much to look out in the wastes. “It’s like none I’ve heard of the Romans, is it French or Varangian?” The question was another warning sign, why was the man asking about dead nations and France?”  
  
“Something like that.” They were getting close to the ruins and his tracks were beginning to vanish under the sands. They were close though, and he could feel the tension rising. His worries about a double cross were seeming more realistic by the minute. “We’re looking for a little cave, it will be tricky to spot.”  
  
Hopefully that would delay them until they’d found it. If he could get into the tomb that would get them off their horses, they’d have to fight sword to revolver and he’d already knew how that would go.   
  
Another thirty minutes and he spotted the stone he’d knocked free, he jogged towards it just to get a little separation from the riders. “This is it, be careful it’s full of snakes.”  
  
“Thank you for the warning Indiana Jones.” Their leader made no move to dismount as his men formed a line on either side of him. “Now I meant to ask, do you have friends in Cairo?”  
  
“People to watch out for you mean?” His revolver in hand, Indy was as ready as he was going to be. He thought he could might be able to make it into the tomb, but he wasn’t about to turn his back on them for the desperate sprint he’d need to outrun their horses. “I’ll have to introduce you to them when we get there.”  
  
“I think I shall instead have to console them after I share the news of finding you lost and delirious.” He unsheathed his scimitar and his men followed. “You were just too weak for us to save.”  
  
Before he even spurred his horse forward Indy had fired, the heavy bullet striking the man’s chest. He turned and fired at the next fastest, but even before the man fell his compatriots were fleeing, whipping their horses in their haste to escape.   
  
The leader had dropped from his saddle, and his leg had twisted in his stirrup, even if he didn’t have a bullet in his gut he wouldn’t be going far with a shattered knee. He left the gasping man to check on the other man he’d shot. He’ fallen backwards, pulling on the reins enough to keep the horse from bolting. The blood from his mouth and chest told the story though. Indy had got his heart, and he’d been dead before he realized it.  
  
Indy yanked the man from his nervous horse and left his body, he had no sympathy for the bushwhacker, and led the horse back to the other man, walking so he cast a shadow on the dying man. Time for some answers.  
  
“Hello.” He was squinting up at him, the sun at Indy’s back driving into his eyes. “Now how about you? Got any friends in Cairo?”  
  
“My master will have your head for this.” Indy raised an eyebrow, then realized the man couldn’t see it.  
  
“Now I’ve heard threats from dying men before, and I’ve got say it’s kind of impressive. Most men, just cry and scream for their mothers.” Indy lifted his foot and held it over the man’s stomach, not pressing down but enough that the man got the message. “So who is your master?”  
  
It took him a second, but he regained his fire. “The Caliph Al-Musta’li! And he will make sure you beg for death for this!”  
  
“There hasn’t been a Caliph in centuries.” The name was familiar though, maybe Ned had mentioned him, perhaps he was an Arabic revolutionary of some sort.  
  
“He is the nineteenth Caliph and I’m sure he will have great pleasure in teaching you the error of your ways.” The man was fading rapidly, the blood loss and shock getting to him, but that number, a terrible suspicion was growing in him.  
  
He pressed his boot against the bullet hole and twisted, the man returned to full consciousness and shrieked in agony. “What country are we in? What year is this?”  
  
“The Fatimid Caliphate! Four Hundred Ninety! Shawwāl!” Indy lifted his foot in a daze. Shawwāl that meant the Islamic calendar if the caliphate wasn’t enough. Four-ninety, the conversion was basically adding six hundred years, he was in Fatimid Egypt right when the Crusades were about to start.  
  
He nearly pulled the trigger to put him out of his misery, then realized that somehow- impossibly- he was back in time. He slumped to the sand next to the dying man, he had something like twenty bullets he couldn’t waste them, the next time they’d be made was the better part of a millennium away. The man was breathing his last next to him, and Indy was all too cognizant he could soon follow. Plagues, pirates, raiders, the old world was a dangerous place.  
  
He didn’t know how long he sat before he rallied, the man was no longer breathing and Indy shook himself to try to pull himself together. “Well thanks for that.” He stood and searched the corpse, he needed to get out of Egypt and away from any of the dead man’s friends who might chase him. At least he knew why they’d fled from his gun, it had been the first one ever fired.  
  
Two swords, some water, and a little gold richer he mounted the dead man’s horse, leading the other behind him as he started moving west again. He still needed to get to the river, just now he’d be running north for the Mediterranean. “I should have stayed in Connecticut."


	3. Indy III

Indy was usually calmer riding a horse, on a road you mostly just gave the animal directions and it would handle the tricky parts of walking and carrying weight. He could let his mind wander, planning the next dig, lecture, or even just a trip. Not today though. Indy was combing through his memory for everything about Fatimid Egypt he could remember, it wasn’t much unfortunately. They’d taken Egypt from the Byzantines, and then lost it a few hundred years later to Saladin. They’d never really been of interest to him, a fact that was remarkably inconvenient.  
  
Dragging his mind back to his surroundings Indy dragged his new turban a little higher on his head. Hopefully the bandit didn’t have lice, he could feel his head itching, but he was hoping that was just psychosomatic. The protection from the sun had outweighed the risk and that wasn’t changing. The desert had only gotten hotter since he’d encountered the bandits, and he’d only just made it back to the place he’d first met the riders. Indy wanted to push the horses harder, but he needed them to stay healthy. Neither of them seemed to be sweating much, but he wanted to make sure they were up for a run north along the river. Based on what the bandit had said he still had a few more miles to go to get there, and it would be the better part of thirty miles to the coast and Damietta.  
  
Damietta was another dull spot in his knowledge. He’d been to the modern version on a few occasions, but he was eight hundred years too early for that to be helpful. It was on the other side of the river, he knew that much, but hopefully he’d find a bridge or a ferry. Probably a ferry, the annual flooding wasn’t controlled yet and any bridge would be swept away. He was beginning to see signs of the Nile as he rode, there was some greenery and in the distance he could see the signs of cultivation.  
  
Seeing agriculture made him wonder about the season. The man had said Shawwāl, but the Islamic calendar was lunar, that told him nothing about when in the year he was. The ground told him more, the silt indicating flooding was still dark, not bleached by the sun, and the plants were young. The annual floods were in the fall, since the water had receded that meant it was probably October or November.  
  
Call it October, October 1090 something. The Conqueror’s heir was on the throne in England, some Capetian was in France, the Holy Roman Empire kind of existed, and most importantly Urban II was the Bishop of Rome. “Deus vult then.” His horses didn’t react to the battlecry.  
  
The Crusades were either just about to start or were going on. The First Crusaders would never reach Egypt, they stalled out somewhere past Jerusalem, but they were coming. Honestly if they weren’t coming he’d consider staying in Egypt, the standard of living was better than Europe for the wealthy at least, but he didn’t want to be tarred with same brush as the invaders. He’d also killed two men who claimed to be servants of the Caliph. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a price on his head, but getting out of Dodge seemed like a good idea.  
  
As he got closer to the river he started passing workers in the fields. They were planting, roughly confirming the season, and they didn’t seem to take notice of him. He was pretty unremarkable from a distance, his robe and borrowed turban hid his features and his measured pace didn’t scream ‘fugitive.’ He resolved that the next road he found he’d take north. Indy was tempted to see if there was a road following the banks of the Nile, but he’d told the bandits that he was headed to the river. He only had to stay hidden for a day, once he reached Damietta he could get on a ship to anywhere.  


 

________

  
Indy spent a cold and nervous night off the road in the scrub before getting up for an early morning. He could smell the sea, and another less pleasant odor which he assumed was the city. Cairo had never smelled particularly good, but compared to a medieval city it was practically perfumed. There were more and more houses as he got closer, fields giving way to villas and orchards and in the distance, the Nile.  
  
The crowds were growing denser as he went, farmers bringing their wares to market as well as other travelers. A group of men, soldiers, passed him at a trot and he was grateful he’d thought to dirty the horses enough that they looked nothing at all like the ones that had ridden out yesterday. As he’d hoped there was barge, crewed by a pimply adolescent and a man whose arms appeared to be carved from stone, no doubt from pulling the ferry across the expanse of water.  
  
For a second he worried about payment, it wasn’t like dollars would work here, then he remembered the looted gold. He’d probably be overpaying, but once he got into the city he could vanish. Indy did his best to look inconspicuous as he paid his fare, leading his two horses onto the the creaking boat. He kept his face to the water, even with the dust darkening him his eye color would betray him as a foreigner, if his accent didn’t first.  
  
Across the river he could see galleys docked on the shores, a few equipped with rams and others wider and longer, merchant vessels. It was time to start thinking about his next move, not quite long term plans, he wasn’t sure he could handle those just yet, but where he was sailing. Western Europe was out, Britain was still consolidating, French was busy sending its excess men to Jerusalem, Germany wasn’t even an idea, and Italy was split between warring city states. No, the east and Constantinople seemed like the best place to set up for whatever happened next. It still had three hundred years till its ultimate fall, long after he’d be dead if he didn’t get whisked back the same way he got here.  
  
Maybe he should have stayed in Tanis, dug out the map room and tried to replicate whatever brought him here, but only killing two of the five ruined that. Even if they were only gangsters they’d still be looking for him, they’d only have to get lucky once. No he’d-  
  
“That’s mine!” Indy seized the adventurous arm and pulled the suddenly shouting boy in front of him. He had moved behind him and tried to pick-pocket him. The boy managed to get his hand into his bag without Indy noticing, it was only the jingling of the shells that alerted him, letting him catch the pick-pocket by the wrist. The excitement had attracted everyone’s attention, all eyes were on him as he pried the headpiece from the boy’s grip. A man, the boy’s father or handler, looked angry, a hand vanishing into his robe for a knife or a club.  
  
The ferryman was looking distinctly uninterested and the rest of the crowd was scattering. It was an awfully brazen robbery attempt, it wasn’t like the boy could have run far if he’d been noticed. The barge was too small for him to hide, unless- Indy adjusted his grip on the boy and addressed the man loudly. “Can he swim?” The man paused, then shook his head frantically, babbling too fast for him to understand. Indy let him talk for a second before replying. “Sorry, what was that? I should find out for myself?”  
  
The kid squirmed, but Indy had had a few very frustrating days and the excuse to take it out on someone was not to be missed. The pickpocket made an enormous splash, the Fagin chased after him shouting and Indy helped him on his way with a solid kick to the rear. The other passengers stared at him with something very much like awe, except for one who seemed to lack moral fiber and confidence in vigilante justice.  
  
“You threw him in! He could have drowned!” Indy raised an eyebrow and glanced to the river where both of the thieves were slowly thrashing their way towards the shore.  
  
“He could have kept his hands to himself. Besides,” he mounted his horse, looking down at the merchant who suddenly noticed his sword and paled, “swimming is a valuable life skill. I was doing him a favor.”  
  
With that he moved into the crowd, rapidly losing sight of the merchant as he was carried away by the constant flow. Indy had been all over the world but there was always something new to see in every city. Damietta was crowded, the wealth of the East flowing through it and filling it with traders and tradesmen.  
  
Goods from India, China, the African coast and Europe mingled at the mouth of the Nile. It wasn’t the same as Alexandria, but Indy could see the products of half the world just by moving down the street. There was a cacophony of languages, many he recognized and more he didn’t. There were cloaked Arabs, tall men with skin of the purest black, giant red heads from the far north, and even the occasional Asian. It just reinforced that the epicenter of the world was in the east now, and would be for centuries to come. Europe would be busy with its wars and rebellions until through an accident of history it surged forth once more. Now though, the Fatimids and Seljuks were supreme in the Near and Middle East, their power and influence stretching from Spain to Samarkand.  
  
Compared to that the Crusaders almost seemed vainglorious. A bunch of squabbling kingdoms sending their second sons and heirs across the entirety of their known world to chip away at the edges of the Caliphates. If it hadn’t worked it would be ridiculous, instead it was the end of the Dark Ages and the eventual spark for the rise of the west. The Fatimids probably wouldn’t see as favorably though, once again solidifying Indy’s desire to get out of their lands.  
  
He rode generally towards the harbor, making his way back and forth through the streets as he wandered. He bought some fried meat from a vendor, not even bothering to ask what it was, and doing his best not to think about it as he ate it looking for a stable. Having horses was nice, but he wanted a berth on a ship and it would be difficult to get them to come along. Hopefully he could turn them into something a bit more fungible.  
  
First he’d have to find a ship headed the right way though, when he was riding he was a man of substance, on foot he’d just be another peon. He didn’t really have a good idea of how much it would cost to get anywhere, so starting negotiations from a position of strength could be useful. Or he could get hosed because the captain would think he had money to burn, there was a risk either way.  
  
The sound of shouting, Greek shouting, drew his attention. The galley beyond it, wide bodied and long with eyes upon the bow sealed it, that ship would be heading where he wanted to go.


	4. Indy IV

The _Salaminia_ cut through the waves easily, its single sail and banks of rowers speeding it forward. They were bound for Constantinople, Indy had to remind himself not to think of it as Istanbul, and he had three weeks of travel to look forward to. Assuming they didn’t meet storms, pirates, or hell with the way things were going, sirens.   
  
The captain, a hunched man, his skin weathered by decades of the sea stumped up towards Indy. He took one final glimpse at his compass, another anachronism, before snapping it shut and stowing it in his bag. “What’s happening?”  
  
“Just another day on the wine dark sea.” The captain thought himself a scholar, making Indy regret mentioning that he studied history. It had been a novel concept for the man, he was aware of Herodotus and Thucydides, but he’d never thought he’d meet someone similarly engaged. Since then he’d been dropping as many references, from Homer to Cicero, into his conversation as he could. It was like being back in London with Borenius again, another man determined to show off what he’d read.   
  
“Any difficulties?” A galley was a lot less trust inspiring than a liner, or even a tramp steamer. The ship looked sound though, brightly painted and its hull seemed clean.  
  
That was met with laughter. “We’ve only been on the ocean for a day, if we were having problems already we’d be in real trouble.” He gestured back at his men, stroking away at the pace of a slow drum. “All my men are here, none are hungover or suffering from any.. indiscretions,” Indy forced himself to smile in response to the captain’s gesture. “No my friend, we’ll have you at the Bosphorous in due time. I’ve sailed this route a hundred times.” He would later reflect that that was the moment he should have expected everything to go wrong, hubris was a classic flaw.  
  


_____

  
  
“What should I do?” He had to shout to be heard over the roaring wind, eight days into their voyage a storm had raced out of the east and sent them scudding across the Mediterranean. Waves were crashing across the deck and the rain was falling sideways. At least two rowers had been lost to the sea and Indy was beginning to worry about being next.  
  
“Get to the bilge pump!” Indy nodded and then staggered along the deck. Water sweeping across the boards nearly swept his feet from beneath him but he managed to stay upright before dropping heavily into the hold. Three men were clustered around a bronze contraption, straining to work the cylinder. He grabbed the most exhausted looking one by the shoulder and took his place, throwing all his weight to send the water up and out.  
  
It was a thankless task. More water was spilling in from the main deck and the rain every second, and the hull seemed to be constantly weeping, but Indy didn’t let himself think about it. Instead he pounded on the lever with the other men even as his hands turned raw, the wet wood tearing at his hands. He could have been there for hours before he was pulled away, another man taking his spot.   
  
He slumped against a wet wall holding his hands in the air, even the water falling on them stung. Without the constant exertion he had time to pay attention to the raging storm. Thunder cracked through the air, some bursts so close that he could feel the boards vibrate against his back. The silence that followed them was the only surcease from the pouring rain, and he wasn’t sure it wasn’t from being temporarily deafened by the blast. He waited for what simultaneously felt like seconds and days before retaking his spot at the pump, his hands screaming as he seized the handles.   
  
The whole cycle repeated itself for what felt like forever. Indy pumped as long as he could then rested, as the water in the bilge kept slowly rising as it sloshed with the waves. Drowning was beginning to seem like an attractive alternative when the captain jumped down with a splash, looking almost pleased. “The storms breaking lads!” He clapped one of the sailors on the back roughly. “While you ladies were down here staying dry, we decided to do some real work and not sink.”  
  
The men laughed, exhaustion giving it a ragged edge. One of the mates gave the captain a slight shove. “You wouldn’t know real work if jumped out of the ocean and laid on the deck in front of you.”  
  
For a second Indy thought there was going to be violence before he realized the dynamic was different, the two men grasped forearms briefly before the mate went back to the pump. “That’s right Aleksy, luckily I had you for the job,” the captain turned to Indy as if he was imparting some great secret. “You might not have noticed, but there’s nobody who knows how to pump a shaft better than Aleksy here. I don’t like to see that expertise and have to think about my poor deprived sister-in-law. She’s at home all alone in her bed, desperately waiting for-”  
  
The captain dodged a lazy swipe from Aleksy as the crew kept laughing, a little more genuinely this time. He waved his hand to try to get their attention. “More seriously,” it was futile, Aleksy had started pumping again, adding lurid gestures as he went. “Well fine, I’ll let you be surprised when we make landfall.”  
  
That got everyone’s attention quickly. One of the sailors spoke for the rest. “We’re weeks from Constantinople.” Muttered agreement followed that pronouncement.  
  
“No, with the mast gone we’re months from Constantinople.” He looked surprised at the impact his words had. “None of you noticed that? You didn’t hear the cracking or the screaming? Really?”  
  
“It was pretty hectic down here.” The others nodded, the storm outside was still loud but it didn’t remotely measure up to how it had been. The captain had been right about it breaking though, the wind no longer screamed over them.  
  
The captain glanced around the hold, for the first time seeming to notice the depth of the water they were standing in. He inspected it for a moment before clapping his hands to force a segue. “Well then, we lost the mast and we’re far to the west of where we should be. I think we’re near Corinth, we’ll get to the coast and look for a port to make repairs.” He walked away towards the hatch and its ladder before turning back. “If any of you want some fresh air the boys on the deck could use a breather.”  
  
Between an oar and the pump it was hardly a choice. Indy followed him up and one of the rowers immediately flagged him down to take his place. He slid into his spot and took up the oar, once again mindlessly working, this time in the weakening winds and rain.   
  


____

  
  
“ _Lacedaemon_ , Sparta that was.” The storm had fully broken and the sun lit the waves brilliantly as Indy stood at the bow with the captain. “Although in these days it’s the Theme of Peloponnese.”  
  
Indy wrestled through his geography. He’d been to Greece a few times as a child and then one memorable week as an adult where he didn’t think he stepped outdoors once. “We’re in the Gulf of Laconia?”  
  
“No, close though. We’re still in the Aegean, the Myrtoan if you want to be precise, to the west of the peninsula.” Indy was starting to regret not having a world map folded into his bag, he hadn’t thought it would be needed at all.  
  
“And there’s a port to make repairs in?” Without the mast their progress had slowed dramatically, all they had for propulsion was the oars and a jury rigged sail that seemed more trouble than it was worth.   
  
He gestured vaguely towards the sea, there was a faint haze that appeared to be clouds that Indy knew to be land. “The Rock of Monemvasia, a fortress and the source of truly excellent wine. Have no fear, we’ll make berth, raise the mast and have you on your way in a day or two. I’d like to give the men a bit of a rest.”  
  
“Dry land does sound appealing.” It really did, the entire ship was soaked and Indy felt wet to his very bones. Even if the inn was full of louses he’d take it for the chance to be warm and dry.  
  
“And here I thought you were a sailor, you handled yourself well enough in the storm.”  
  
“I’ve had some experience with,” it took him a second to find the right word, “interesting times.”  
  
“Well if you have stories I’ll have wine, it’s the least I can do for a man who helped keep us afloat.”  
  


______

  
  
That evening they rowed past the island fortress, it half reminded Indy of Gibraltar, cliffs appearing to jut straight from the water. The town itself was on the coast proper, sheltered by a breakwater and the bulk of the immense rock. Fisherman stopped to stare at the battered galley, its once bright paint was dull and marred and that was only the start of the damage. Indy wasn’t too concerned with that though, he was headed ashore getting his feet on solid ground as quickly as possible.  
  
In another time he might have been concerned about the town’s layout. The walls and streets appeared haphazard, but perhaps there was some sort of organization that wasn’t immediately apparent. With a keen sense of priorities he decided that could wait until the next day, after a hot meal and a night’s sleep.  
  
The sound of music and laughter pulled him forward. He found a tavern as he rounded the corner, light and merriment spilling into the street. He checked his satchel, despite being soaked the contents were mostly safe. His notebook was crumpled and would need dedicated effort to fix, but his coins and revolver were safe.  
  
The bar quieted briefly as he entered, the locals giving him a quick appraisal and then most gave a second look. He’d known intellectually that people had been smaller in the past, but here towering over the vast majority of the people he stuck out like a sore thumb. “Wine, wine and whatever’s hot.” He flipped a coin to the proprietor, the display of capitalism seemed to calm the crowd and the noise returned to its previous level.   
  
A cup was in front of him immediately, filled with a red so dark it was nearly black. It was sickly sweet, but at this point Indy would be up for anything. A wooden tray appeared in due time, covered with lamb and olives that he tore into with a gusto that inspired some awe from the other patrons. He slapped another coin on the bar before he finished, the second round was in front of him as soon as he was ready for it. That one he ate a bit more sedately, finally feeling human with the meal and the wine warming his stomach. His curiosity took the chance to return and he spun to observe the room, nursing his fourth cup.  
  
He was immediately disappointed. Bars and taverns hadn’t changed much in a millennium. He could have plucked the inhabitants straight from their seats and thrown them into any dive in all the world and he doubted he could tell the difference. Older men, going to seed, were playing something with dice, backgammon or craps. Younger men were drinking and boasting, either to impress their friends or the barmaids. There were a few young couples scattered around the edges of the room, one particularly affectionate one being given a wide berth.  
  
Indy stood and walked towards the gamblers, he had a pleasant buzz of chemically aided courage and after surviving the storm he felt like his luck was good. He’d be here a day or two, might as well make friends and see the local color.  
  
“Gentlemen.” There was a moment where they seemed to judge him, like dogs meeting a newcomer and then one of the men nodded, breaking the tension. Indy dragged a chair over to their table and sat.  
  
“You just get in?” It was the same man whom the others had deferred to, barrel chested with lines of grey beginning to streak his coal black hair. “Late for a trader.”  
  
Indy was watching the game as they played, it seemed to be backgammon but the one of the players missed an easy hit so he wasn’t sure. “We had some difficulties.”  
  
“That storm?” Indy was increasingly sure it wasn’t straight backgammon, he’d spent enough time playing to know the optimal moves and they weren’t using them.  
  
“Yeah, it was an experience. What game is this?” The men had quieted when he confirmed the storm, but his question brought back their enthusiasm. In this time the world was hostile and they needed to be able recover quickly to live.  
  
“Tavli, you don’t know it?” A bewildering series of rules followed. In the end it was close to what he knew, but there were subtle differences that made edge cases different. He’d never been one to shy away from new experiences though, so when the first game ended he asked to give it a shot.  
  
His luck was good, the stakes were low but it was a satisfying evening, everything he’d hoped for. The fishermen swapped stories about their own storms. Two of them had served in the Byzantine, Roman to them, navy and they all had tales about the fiercest winds and biggest waves. He lost the board after two rounds, but the waitress who’d been refilling his cup lingered just a little too long over him commiserating. That led to the other men, all married and past their chasing days, to encourage him to go for her, it seemed like the right way to end the night and celebrate his survival.  
  
Walking into the street arm and arm with her he had an immediate reason to regret his decision. Five men, boys really were waiting. Their leader looking fulminous and the suddenly tighter grip on his arm told him all he needed to know.  
  
“This is the boyfriend?” Her now pale face confirmed it, he’d walked right into some relationship drama and the gang looked drunk enough diplomacy didn’t seem viable. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. “Now fellas-”  
  
The boyfriend pulled a knife and the night suddenly became serious. In a fistfight he’d have liked his chances, this was something entirely different. He shook the babbling girl free from his arm, she was speaking too fast for him to understand in an increasingly high pitch, and pushed her behind him. “We don’t need to do this.” His revolver was in his hand, still concealed in his bag. He didn’t want to kill any of them, but dying in a dirty backstreet over some girl didn’t appeal either. Last time a gunshot had been enough, he pulled the hammer back with his thumb and a click. “You really want to walk this road?”  
  
The leader stepping forward was answer enough. Indy drew and fired, the bullet erupting into the night in a gout of flame. For a second he thought that would be enough, the report startling them into sobriety, but the boy just roared and charged. He aimed center mass- it would be quick- he could give him that much- then the world changed.  
  
Something he’d later realize was the door exploded outwards- two cloaked figures in its wake and impossibly accelerating. His shot ricocheted off nothing and then two figures were between them. The gang’s leader was on his back with a man standing over him, and Indy’s gun was in the other interloper’s hand. It was the amorous couple from inside, a blond man with a shining sword and a woman with flame bright hair.


	5. Indy V

For a moment there was simply stunned silence in the cobbled street. The two, on a second glance they couldn’t be out of their teens, seemed just as lost. They shared a look before the blond one took a step back, out from between Indy and the boys. The redhead followed him, still holding his revolver.  
  
“So Pyrrha, I know we were both pretty firmly in agreement to come out here once we heard the gunshot, but uhh, what now?” Indy almost didn’t understand the boy, that he was speaking English shocked him enough he could barely pay attention. “Do you want to try to tell them if they all agree to go home and sleep it off we’ll let them?”  
  
The girl, Pyrrha, shook her head eyes not leaving Indy. “I think as long as we have the chance we should do what we came for and ask some questions. He’s got a gun, he must know something about all this.”  
  
“Err, right.” Her gentle admonishment seemed to embarrass the boy, he almost went to scratch his head before realizing he still had a sword in hand. “Well give it a shot, you’re the one that speaks Mistralian.”  
  
Mystras was an abandoned city, near modern Sparti. Indy had visited the well preserved ruins up on Mount Taygetus. He’d never heard of Mistralian though, maybe it was a local dialect?  
  
The girl was still looking at him intently. The revolver hanging open in her hands and held with a certain carelessness that spoke of familiarity. “Where did you get this,” she paused for an instant, searching for a word, “slingshot?”  
  
The blond was looking at him too, idly swinging his sword in low tight loops. Indy briefly thought about lying but the sheer speed they’d demonstrated with their entrance made him nervous. They’d barely been visible as they ran, and a solid oak door hadn’t seemed to even trouble them. Indy had seen some things that wouldn't be believed by a rational man, but most could be explained as tricks. Very rarely had he seen something that belonged in a pulp serial or hell, a Greek myth. Past that, they were speaking English and knew about guns. Odds were they had something to do with his little jaunt.  
  
“I bought it, and when I came here I had it with me.” It wasn’t quite enough to answer her, but hopefully it would spur her to reveal more with her next question. Indy carefully acted like he didn’t understand her as she translated her answer for the boy whose reply didn’t disappoint.  
  
“When he came here?” He was completely ignoring the other members of the audience now, flipping between Pyrrha and Indy. “Do you think the same thing happened to him?”  
  
The girl was more cautious, but there was still an undercurrent of excitement in her voice. “I don’t know Jaune, but he’s the first clue since that faunus on the mountain.” She held the revolver towards the boy, Jaune, pointing at the engraved serial number. “This gun is number 39871, that means it probably was mass produced. We haven’t seen any signs of the industry- Look out!”  
  
One of the thugs had lunged for Jaune, knife in hand and stabbing by the time Pyrrha shouted. He was equal to it though, twisting and accelerating with the same uncanny speed they’d first displayed. The knife exploded into shards when his sword blasted through it and Jaune shoved the stunned man back to the ground with his shield almost nonchalantly.  
  
He looked to the girl, grinning brightly. “It’s lucky I’ve got you around to keep me humble, or I’d start to feel like a badass.”  
  
Pyrrha’s blush was visible even in the street's dim torchlight, although she also looked pleased. “Well we’re going to get back, somehow, and I’d hate for anyone to think we were slacking off.”  
  
“I doubt anyone would ever think that of you.” The two of them shared a look that belonged on a particularly saccharine movie poster. Just before Indy started to feel awkward enough he was willing to leave the gun to get away Jaune coughed, breaking their spell. “Right, should we ask him?”  
  
Pyrrha turned back to Indy, still smiling. “Did you get brought back in time too?”  
  
Indy looked at the gang on the ground and back at the barmaid who’d gone bone-white and quiet. “Let’s have this conversation somewhere else.”  
  
A quick glare from Jaune served to keep the beaten boys from trying anything, and Indy reluctantly left the girl. The buzz he’d had from the bar was rapidly fading, especially when confronted with whatever the two of them could do. He led them back down towards the sea, stopping at a rocky beach where the crashing waves would drown out their words for any eavesdroppers.  
  
Neither of them had taken the delay especially well, even if Pyrrha had persuaded Jaune to accept the necessity. Now it was just the three of them and Indy was becoming uncomfortably aware of what he’d seen. Well fortune favored the brave, and it wasn’t like he was any safer in the middle of town.  
  
“So what do you want to know?” He kept speaking Greek, he didn’t want to let them know he could understand them, it had already paid off once. It also gave him a little more time to think as she repeated him, more time to worry about them.   
  
They seemed to think they were back in time as well, but Indy knew well that people with swords and magic powers weren’t common in any era. He’d have to try to get as much information as possible.  
  
Pyrrha looked to her partner, then sharply at Indy. “You were brought back too. How?”  
  
“I was in Egypt.” His appearance in the snake chamber forced itself into his mind and he involuntarily shuddered, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by either of them. “There was a flash of light, and here I was.”  
  
“Egypt?” That was what she’d seized upon? She shared another look with Jaune. “When did you come from?”  
  
“Nineteen thirty six.” She frowned and translated-  
  
“What?” Jaune grabbed Pyrrha by the shoulder and pulled her away, looking at Indy suspiciously. “Pyrrha, that’s almost two thousand years in the future! He’s got to be lying!”  
  
“Maybe.” She looked over her shoulder as Indy did his best to not react to what they were saying. “But that’s not the only possibility. I mean, so much was lost in the War and to the Grimm, maybe there’s a different calendar system?”  
  
That mollified the boy a little, he still had an air of nervous energy. “Well our world is a Remnant of something,“ he turned east towards the half moon just breaking the horizon, “and the moon is still whole. I suppose it’s possible.” If he’d had a hard time not reacting to them, Jaune’s new revelation made it seem early. “But how far back are we then? Before the Grimm, before the Kingdoms, if that map we found was even halfway right even the continents are wrong.”  
  
The girl was subdued, as if she was just realizing the scope of their problem. “There have always been stories about semblances strong enough to reshape the world, someone was bound to have used one.”  
  
Everything they said was just raising more questions, but to play his part Indy should be nervous by now, it had nominally been an awkward minute of unintelligible conversation. Maybe he could get them on the back foot and keep squeezing more background from them. “Look, I told you.” They startled at his interjection. Apparently they were young enough they hadn’t learned to keep an eye on potential dangers, or more demoralizingly they didn’t consider him a threat at all. “Now it’s your turn. When are you from, and how did you get here?”  
  
“Eighty Three Alpha, after the war,” She hesitated for an instant, then pressed forward. “What was your year counting from?”  
  
“The birth of Jesus of Nazareth.” She clearly drew a blank. “Yeah, I think they’re pretty different. How did you get here though? Any ideas?”  
  
“There was a battle, Jaune and I were going to fight,” a flash of guilt crossed her face, “then we were here, well not here, on a mountain to the west.”  
  
Well, if they were telling the truth they were in the dark as much as he was. They had said he wasn’t their first clue though, not that he was supposed to know that. Hopefully he could get them to admit it themselves. “So in the future this sort of thing isn’t common?”  
  
“There are rumors about souls that allow for limited time travel, but like this? No.” In what was becoming a theme for the night, that only suggested more questions.  
  
He had a goal though. “Have you seen anything else, something special or unusual?”  
  
Jaune looked perturbed by his question. “What do you think? Should we tell him about the faunus?”  
  
“What could it hurt? We have his weapon and couldn’t find her after she spoke to us anyway. Let’s see how it goes.” Switching back to Greek she turned to Indy. “On the mountain, we met a faunus, a deer with golden horns. We asked her where we were and if she knew how to get back to Beacon, our school, and she told us to go east. That if we wanted Beacon we should seek Alexandria.”  
  
“A faunus?” He tried not to stumble over the unfamiliar word, the one thing his mind was seizing on. “What’s that?”  
  
“You know people with animal traits? Ears, horns, eyes? Do you not have those when you’re from?”  
  
Something about a doe and a mountain was ringing a bell, a memory from Sparti rising through the ouzo he’d drank then and the wine he’d just had. “This faunus, did she give a name?”  
  
Pyrrha nodded. “Yes, it was-”  
  
“Taygete.”  
  
“How did you know that?” Pyrrha, and Jaune after she explained, were looking at him with something near awe. “A random woman’s-”  
  
Indy shook his head, cutting her off. “She wasn’t a woman, nor a faunus. Taygete’s a nymph, a legend.”  
  
“That’s, well I don’t want to say impossible, but-”  
  
“What’s more likely? His sudden switch to English put both of them on edge. “That gods are walking the earth, or time travel? I’ve seen some legends come to life.”  
  
That seemed to strike Pyrrha far harder than it should have. She took half a step back, Jaune moving forward to support her with his sword suddenly very much in evidence. “So we’re in a time of legends, but you didn’t know that until just now. You just got here tonight. What were you going to do besides pick up waitresses?”  
  
“I was headed east, for Constantinople,” Indy shrugged in response to Jaune’s flat look. “What? I was going to assess once I was there, there’s a war on you know.”  
  
“You know this time then?” Pyrrha had recovered from whatever had disturbed her. “What year is it- wait- do you know about Alexandria?”  
  
“The only thing like a Beacon there is a lighthouse. Whatever you’re looking for isn’t there.” That seemed to hit them even worse than the nymph. “I just came from practically right next to it, it’s just a city. It’s got one of the seven wonders, but if you’re searching for something from your time you won’t find it.”  
  
“If the nymph sent us here, it was for a reason.” There was a new certainty in Jaune’s voice, something that surprised Pyrrha as much as him. “That’s how it goes in the stories right? I’d say we’re in one now.”  
  
“And?” Indy’s question took the wind out of his sails.  
  
“Well, I mean we just met,” he flushed, “we never asked did we, what is your name? I’m Jaune Arc and this is Pyrrha Nikos.”  
  
The names were something Indy didn’t have the energy to deal with right now. “Nice to meet you. Indiana Jones. Call me Indy.”  
  
“Right, well, we got sent here by a nymph, we were meant to meet Indy.” He was looking at Pyrrha now, trying to convince her. “It’s not like we have anything better to do, if Alexandria is what he said. He’s the first clue we’ve had in weeks, let’s go with him.”  
  
“Constantinople.” She gave Indy a searching look, before snapping the pistol shut, spinning it effortlessly and handing it to him grip first. “Would you mind if we tagged along?”


	6. Indy VI

The two other time travelers had managed to secure passage aboard the Salaminia. Between Indy’s endorsement and Jaune taking a spot on the oars they’d managed to get their fare slashed to next to nothing, which after seeing him row seemed like an excellent deal for the captain . The heavy labor didn’t seem to faze the boy, throughout the day he was as fresh as any of the others while pulling far harder. That left Indy with Pyrrha who was interrogating him about the state of the world.  
  
“So Constantinople is the capital of this kingdom?” They were using English to avoid eavesdroppers. Even if the captain or anyone spoke it the version that existed now was so divergent now it was de facto foreign. It also had the nice benefit of making sure they didn’t sound like madmen even if it raised questions about linguistic drift. He’d read studies suggesting that widespread literacy and centralized media would prevent broad changes, Pyrrha and Jaune were apparently proof of that. The girl was looking at him though, waiting for a response.  
  
“Empire, not a kingdom. There’s a bit of history behind the term, but they’re effectively the same. Constantinople is the capital of what historians from my time call the Byzantine empire, but they call themselves the Romans still.” She nodded, but Indy had been a professor long enough to know that she didn’t really understand. He couldn’t blame her, but he was hoping that he could get at least the basics into her. He didn’t know how long they’d be traveling together, but he felt it was his duty to help his fellow temporally, hopefully temporarily, displaced.  
  
“So the Empire is about to launch a war against the neighboring empires?”  
  
“Well, talking to the captain it sounds like they already did. But it wasn’t really the Byzantines though.”  
  
She raised an eyebrow, a rational response on dealing with the strangeness that was the crusades. “So what? A foreign army basically marched in and attacked the Empire’s enemies?”  
  
“Kind of yes,” he held up a hand to forestall her next question. “Give me a minute, i’m trying to think of a way to explain it for someone with your background.” She accepted that fairly easily and turned to look across the leaden sea. November in the Eastern Mediterranean wasn’t the best time. He’d seen the blue green waters of the coasts, the waters beneath a grey sky hardly compared. Now how to explain the various causes and motives behind the wars.  
  
“So first things first, there are two religions dominant over this section of the world.” That surprised her more than anything else he’d said.  
  
“Of course you’d still have distinct religions!”  
  
“You don’t?” The hints she and Jaune dropped about the future were enough to make his inner archaeologist salivate. Or perhaps that should be mellontikologist, either way being the absolute first to learn something was intoxicating.  
  
“Well when the existence of souls and the presence of utterly inimical forces of hatred and destruction were pretty conclusively demonstrated,” she shrugged, “doctrinal differences seemed petty. There was also a purge before the war that hit the remainder pretty hard and they never really recovered. Sure there are still temples around, but it’s far from usual.”  
  
“Huh.” Indy would really have bet on the opposite result, but every so often people could surprise you. “Well right now there are two main ones, Christianity and Islam. That’s not the whole story, but there’s armies of researchers during my time teasing out the details so that’s probably good enough for now. The Byzantines are Christian, and they’ve been getting slowly pushed back for the last few centuries by various Muslim, Islamic, states.”  
  
“So the Byzantines called for the aide of their fellow Christians?”  
  
“Pretty much yeah. They came from all over Europe-”  
  
“And Europe is the continent to the north-west?”  
  
“Yes, it’s a collection of smaller nations, divided along ethnic or geographic lines. The Pope, the Christian religious leader, got a bunch of the leaders to agree and they sent armies marching east.”  
  
“And they’re attacking the Islamics now?” She stumbled over the term, but Indy nodded.  
  
“I don’t remember the precise dates, they’ve definitely gotten to Constantinople by now and are probably attacking down the coast.” Indy was pretty sure they besieged Antioch for a few months, but he couldn’t say exactly. Once they got there he could learn a bit more. The armies were around, that was the important thing.  
  


______

  
In contrast to the first part of the journey the second was literally smooth sailing. They traveled northeast through the Myrtoan and then the Aegean, the seas were hardly crowded but they weren’t the only ones on it. Most they outstripped, the Salaminia rapidly cutting through the water, but some the captain viewed more suspiciously and had them turn to keep away from. With what he’d seen from Pyrrha and Jaune pirates weren’t really something Indy was worried about, but he hadn’t bothered to share that with the captain. By the time the Anatolian coast came into view Indy was feeling cautiously optimistic.  
  
“A few more days and then we’ll be at the Golden Horn!” The captain hadn’t seemed to learn anything from his last prediction and their subsequent adventure. “With the fares you brought aboard we might have actually gained time because of the storm. How’d you find a Frankish knight in Monemvasia?”  
  
Indy kept his eyes on the land just barely visible. “Just lucky I guess.” The ‘knight’ in question was rowing while discussing something with Pyrrha, probably the same thing he was worrying about, what to do next.  
  
Eventually the captain gave up speaking with him, Indy made sure to be polite but even with the varying accents he made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. That left him alone with his thoughts.  
  
His goal had been Constantinople ever since he realized when he was, now he was nearly there. He had enough coins to support himself, silver dollars and looted caliphate gold would keep him afloat, but if he was trapped back in time he had to think long term. The thought of trying to do a Connecticut Yankee died a quick death, he wasn’t an engineer and he didn’t have the resources or influence to get his ideas across. Besides, being given the opportunity to step into history was a gift. He could travel the world, see the things he’d only read about or dug up the bones of. The Silk Road, Helicarnus, Baghdad in its prime, the world was full of wonders, far more than he could see in a single lifetime. That didn’t mean he couldn’t try of course.  
  
He was ignoring the elephant in the room though, what else had traveled through time? The odds of running into Pyrrha and Jaune had been astronomical. He had been half drunk when he suggested divine intervention, but even under the sober light of day it seemed plausible. Could there be others? It seemed likely, but if there were what would they be like? Pyrrha had tried to paint a generally favorable picture of her future but he’d read between the lines. Even ignoring the Grimm there were human or Faunus enemies. He’d seen their strength and power, and they were just students. If someone like the person who shattered the moon had come through what could he even hope to do?  
  
He’d just have to hope, but he couldn’t live in fear. He’d do what he always did and move forward and try to find his way in the world.  
  


______

  
  
The Theodosian walls were enormous, vast stone constructions that seemed to rise from the bones of the earth. Constantinople itself was immense, even having seen Instanbul in its place Indy was impressed. The smell though, he still wasn’t used to the odor of medieval cities and his companions fared no better.  
  
“Haven’t they heard of sewers?” Jaune had finally been relieved from his oar as the pilot directed them into the harbor and was standing at the bow. “I mean, it’s not that hard, get pipes to run downhill and drain into..” The blond trailed off as he seemed to see something, “drain into the ocean. And people eat fish from here?”  
  
Indy couldn’t quite see what he was looking at, the abnormally keen eyesight was another of the advantages the Remnants had over him, but he could guess. “It’s not like they have treatment plants, and this is probably one of the cleaner cities in any case. The Romans were still praised for their infrastructure in my time.”  
  
“Maybe so, it’s just hard to take in.” He reached back to scratch his head, his cloak shifting to reveal his armor. “You guys have been talking about it, but I’ve just been rowing. It didn’t really hit me, even with Monemvasia.”  
  
The redhead was also armored and, somewhat regrettably, covered up completely. “Whatever comes, we’ll handle it. There has to be a way back, we just need to find it.”  
  
“But what if by being here we’ve disrupted the future?” Jaune turned to Indy, raising a question he’d been ignoring. “You said you helped bail during a storm, what if this ship was meant to sink? What if somebody here was supposed to die and your future, and ours, is completely disrupted?”  
  
“Well there’s nothing we can do about it so we’ll need to press on.”  
  
The boy didn’t seem especially calmed by that but a gesture from Pyrrha silenced him and he turned back towards Constantinople.   
  
The wharves grew larger as they approached and there was a riot of colors and sounds as they put in, the goods of the entire world on the waters around them. If he had though Damietta was bustling Constantinople dwarfed it. Longships, galleys, barges and even one that was reminiscent of a junk were docked or moored with men swarming over them, loading and unloading. The cargos were as varied as the ships, crates, livestock, a horse in a net, and holds full of fish.   
  
As the others gaped Indy was trying to think of what he had to trade. He’d want fungible items, but coins would be best. It wasn’t like international banks existed yet, so everything he owned he’d have to carry with him. He’d need a horse, food, perhaps a map, maybe he should join a caravan headed east. Constantinople was the largest trading city he’d find in Christiandom, if he wanted anything he’d find it here. Half-baked plans distracted him until they finally reached their berth, thick hawsers being thrown aboard.  
  
Jaune and Pyrrha didn’t wait for a gang plank, both jumping over the gunwale and landing easily on the wharf. Indy gathered his pack and followed them more sedately, climbing the ramps and stairs away from the harbor until they reached a crossroads. “Well this is Constantinople, if you’re looking for anything I think-”  
  
“Hey Frank!” The shout took all of them by surprise, a thick chested man clad in mail followed by a few others had burst from the crowd and surrounded them. “If you’re sworn to get to Jerusalem you’d better get going, Holger might have taken it by now.”  
  
“Excuse me?” For once Jaune was the calm one as he answered in French, or something like it. “Who took where?”  
  
Now that the immediate shouting and response was over Indy took another look at the man, the knight, and his fellows. They were wearing livery, three birds on a red bend across a yellow field, it reminded Indy of something from the war but he was drawing a blank. The conversation was moving though.  
  
“Holger Carlsen, the Dane, he stormed the walls of Antioch, ended the siege in weeks!”  
  
“I’ve never heard of him.” Jaune was looking to Indy, clearly hoping for some help, but random Crusaders weren’t something Indy was really interested in. Raymond, Godfrey and the Baldwins sure, but Holger Carlsen? It was a bit of a surprise that there were even Christians in Denmark, he half thought they were still pagan.  
  
“No one had, he and his wife rode into the army and then straight over the walls! No man could stand against him! Him and Alianora the swan!” There was a cheer at that around him, from the other crusaders arriving and hearing the news.   
  
Pyrrha and Jaune were huddled though, and Indy didn’t need to hear them to know what they were thinking. He didn’t doubt that Pyrrha or Jaune could cut a swathe through an army, add the mention of a swan, they had to be thinking that Holger and his wife were from their future. He knew what they were going to do before Jaune turned back to the crusader. “We are headed to join the crusade, my,” he hesitated glancing at his companion, “wife and I seek Jerusalem.”  
  
Indy was tempted to let them go with the man, they certainly could take care of themselves, but he was a professor and something about unsupervised students made him reluctant to leave just yet. Antioch and the Levant were sort of on the way east anyway. “And I was sent to keep track of them, do you have room in your band for three?”


	7. Indy VII

They rode south through Nicaea and all around them was the detritus of war. It wasn’t the same as what he’d seen back in Europe, but even months after the armies had passed the signs they’d left were visible. Buildings were scorched, fences were roughly repaired and the people were wary. The two students were grim, but they weren’t surprised. From what he’d gathered the destruction of villages was common enough for them to be used to it.  
  
The knights they were with were more jovial. They’d traveled from the north of France, the Lorraine, and the complete alienness of the landscape and climate seemed to insulate them from the human costs of their war. They saw the Crusade as their duty, a divinely inspired act, and most had enough scars that they’d seen combat before. Riding through its remnants was just another incidental part of their adventure. That wasn’t to say they were barbarians, just that they saw themselves at war. It was easy enough to dehumanize the enemy when they were just on the wrong side of a line, add religion and culture and it was practically already done. Despite that they were good company, willing to share expertise and stories with Indy and Jaune.  
  
With the force of knights around them traveling was fairly simple. Indy had assumed the role of a man at arms to Jaune’s father, sent south to keep him in line. The boy was quiet, riding with Pyrrha as often as he could get away from the other knights. The redhead was usually consigned to stay with the servants and wives, something that wore upon her. With only Greek and English she was practically mute, and while she was doing her best learning a language was work. Her apparent ignorance had been explained by Jaune falling in love with her on the way in a backwoods Greek village and marrying her before Indy could stop him, a story that pleased neither of them. She was doing her best, but Indy had spent times in entirely foreign environments and knew how hard it was. If it wasn’t for their quest he doubted Pyrrha would ever have gone for it, but they didn’t have a choice. They were chasing their way home, and they thought that Holger and the Swan might be it.   
  
Indy was starting to feel doubts about their goal though. Holger Carlsen didn’t ring any bells, but Holger Carlsen the Dane was another matter. It was a short jump from Holger to Ogier, and that made him a legend. He wasn’t quite as well known in America as King Arthur and his knights, but in Europe he certainly was. Of course Ogier shared the same sort of quasi-history as Arthur, a national hero remarkably absent from the chronicles of the time. That wasn’t enough to prove he didn’t exist of course, Indy had seen and heard of far too much for that, but it did seem to show that he hadn’t come from the future like the other travellers. It was a development he wasn’t sharing with the others, there was no need to borrow trouble just yet.  
  
So instead the enjoyed their trip through Anatolia, passing Dorylaeum, Aksehir and then the Cilician Gates to Tarsus. There there party stopped, one of the knights was named after the the Apostle born there and insisted on having a Mass said. The break was welcome, but he was sure that taking Pyrrha and Jaune to a service would utterly ruin their charade. So instead he made an excuse for them, and the three of them left the city, riding north to a lake just outside the city walls and to an isolated inlet.  
  
He could see the tension visibly leaving Pyrrha as they escaped from the sight of others. She sat taller on her horse and rode it more firmly while simultaneously giving it its head. It was as complete a picture of relaxation as he could imagine, one that didn’t go away as Jaune cantered up next to her. Both of them were surprisingly good riders for future monster hunting students, from their stories and the jokes about Jaune’s flight sickness he’d expected that they drove or flew everywhere. Their clear experience on horseback disproved that, even if they hadn’t been completely familiar with the tack and grooming.   
  
The redhead’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “So do you think we’re far enough from town that we can cut loose?” Her grin was matched by Jaune’s sudden pallor, and then resigned acceptance. “Jaune and I aren’t going to be burned as witches or anything?”  
  
That was a bit on the nose, for the blond, but Indy was still a little amused by the coincidence of the name. He’d been introducing himself as Jaune of Arc ever since they joined the knights, and each time he had to resist laughing. “I think the group we’re with will probably assume it’s a miracle. Go for it.”  
  
“Excellent.” She stretched, her back popping as she twisted astride her horse and Indy had to once again admit that Jaune was a lucky man. “Better get ready, you’ve spent far too long without proper training.” She pulled her shield from a saddlebag and drew her sword from it, the bronze and gold gleaming in the sun as her xiphos whistled through the air. Perhaps not so lucky.  
  
Her partner dismounted leading his horse off the road and tying it against a scrubby little tree before drawing his own sword. His sheath impossibly expanded into a shield and he pulled it on, checking the straps for wear and fit.   
  
“So what are you going to do after we get to Antioch?” Pyrrha had her eyes on Jaune but appeared completely relaxed, as if the prospect of fighting a man who Indy had seen break rocks with his bare hands wasn’t worth worrying about. The boy in contrast was deathly focused, his eyes locked on her. “Still planning on heading east?”  
  
She exploded into motion almost before the word left her mouth, sending a spray of scree flying back as she accelerated. Somehow Jaune blocked her first blow which rang against his shield like thunder. Her third and fourth were less opposed, sending him tumbling across the rocky banks as he struggled to keep his defenses up. Indy could barely see the strikes, the only time the two of them weren’t blurred with speed was when Jaune was recovering and Pyrrha was letting him.  
  
Pyrrha’s laugh was audible over the clash of blades, she had been holding all this power and skill in her since they’d left Greece and only now could she let it free. Indy knew he was a pretty good archaeologist, he’d done things and found treasures and information thought lost to time immemorial, but he knew he could have been different. He’d been a good soldier, a good researcher, he could have been any number of things and done them well. Pyrrha, well Jaune had bragged enough on her behalf that he knew she was beyond talented, peerless in her field. Keeping that sort of passion locked away while pretending to be nothing more than a Greek war bride, it was no surprise that she was taking the chance to show who she was.  
  
Then she was flying. He couldn’t tell if Jaune had gotten in a lucky hit or if she was trying something new but she was suddenly a hundred feet away, on the opposite shore of the bay. Her smile was visible from there though, and she waved for Jaune to follow her.  
  
“You know I can’t jump that far!” He was pacing the waterline as he shouted, still keeping his shield up even as his partner was well out of range.She took several steps back and set her feet, her grin even wider.  
  
“Who said anything about jumping?”  
  
She charged into the water-no over it- each footstep throwing up gouts of water. Jaune was as dumbfounded as Indy- then Pyrrha was there. He managed to block her first sequence of attacks before he was thrown back and down.  
  
He looked at her from the ground with awe. “How did you do that?” She turned back to look at the still churning water before helping him up.  
  
“With practice.”  
  
The fight seemed to be on hiatus for a minute so Indy descended to the beach, trying to avoid slipping on the loose stones. “You know I’ve seen some lizards who can do that.”  
  
“Run on water?” Pyrrha and Jaune both looked curious, on Remnant the softer sciences had taken a backseat by necessity and they made for an appreciative audience for most of his trivia about the history of their world. “How?”  
  
Pyrrha answered for him. “It used to be easier when I was smaller, not much easier I’ve gotten faster, but easier-”  
  
Jaune was nodding, understanding. “And a little lizard would have it even better, right. Where do the lizards live? Can we see them?”  
  
“An ocean away I’m afraid.” Indy usually appreciated human works more than those of nature, but the basilisks were a wonder of their own. Spotting them was a challenge, but he’d spent a few evenings watching them sprint across streams and ponds while searching for Forrestal’s trail. “And unless you can sprint for three thousand miles,” it was more of a question than he wanted it to be and he was relieved when they shook their heads, “you’ll need to wait a few hundred years to sail there.”  
  
“Well that’s unfortunate.” She did something to her sword and it telescoped into a spear. “We have all day right?” Behind Pyrrha Jaune was shaking his head frantically, pleading, but Indy just smirked and nodded.  
  
“Take all the time you need, I’m going to take a look around.”  
  
Soon the sounds of Pyrrha beating Jaune into the bedrock faded behind him, but Indy could have had a marching band behind him and ignored them. Clambering up the bluffs surrounding the lake gave him a view of Tarsus far superior to the one he’d had on the ride in.   
  
It was a pale city, sun bleached brick and stone. A long wall surrounded it, perhaps twenty feet tall with a moat at its base. Indy half heartedly started sketching it, he wasn’t the greatest artist but he’d dabbled enough to get the perspective and proportions. The wall looked strong, but the city had apparently changed hands several times in the last few decades. Turks, Byzantines, and Armenians had all claimed it with varying degrees of success, right now it seemed to be held by Crusaders.   
  
The entire region around it had been spared the depredations of war, the Seljuks had held central Anatolia but around Tarsus there was a Christian enclave. Winning Manzikert hadn’t let the invaders take all of the peninsula, perhaps the mountains and the possibility of naval resupply had allowed the coastal cities to remain unconquered. The sea was visible beyond the city, perhaps five miles away and just visible through the slight haze. It slightly surprised him that it was that far from the water’s edge, in the days before trains it seemed like an additional difficulty, but they probably had their reasons. It wouldn’t too bad of a walk, and pirates or raiders would have to slog across the plain before reaching the walls.   
  
It was a little peculiarity about Europe and Asia that often struck him, how the cities’s locations were chosen not just for trade but for defensibility. America was lucky in that, without real threats its cities had just sprang up wherever commerce wished without fear or worry. Staring at Tarsus made it almost worth it though. Despite the cost the walls and fortress added a certain grandeur, ramparts guarding the city since antiquity.   
  
Well if things went according to plan it would be the first citadel of many. After Antioch he wanted to head east, the Euphrates was near and that would get him down into Mesopotamia and close to Baghdad. Alternately he could travel further, up past Armenia and take the Tigris, that would bring him directly there. That all depended on what he found in Antioch. If Ogier the Dane was walking the earth he might have to change his itinerary. Either way, if all went well he’d know in a week.


	8. Indy VIII

**Indy VIII**  
  
Antioch was far greater than Tarsus. The Orentes flowed beneath and along its mighty walls as the citadel atop Mount Silpius loomed. Indy could imagine the carnage defenders could inflict, even rocks dropped from the cyclopean walls would kill and maim to say nothing of arrows or other missiles. Knowing that the city had fallen to an assault despite that made the supernatural seem like the only reasonable explanation. The opinions of his traveling companions did nothing to dissuade them.  
  
“Carlsen cried _Deus Vult_ and then led the assembled knights right over the bridge and held the gate!” A crusader who’d lost his hand in battle had met them on the road and shared the story at their urging. “The Seljuks didn’t know what hit them, as soon as we took the gatehouse he was on the walls and they fled before him!”  
  
Indy could imagine the panic, he’d been in burning cities before and those hadn’t included hostile armies. Once the walls were breached with a legend in the lead the fall of Antioch was practically certain.   
  
After the crusader, due to his injury he’d been left behind in charge of one of the bridges that guarded the city, finished giving his account of the battle Indy started digging for more. “So after the city fell the bulk of the armies moved south? Was Carlsen with them?”  
  
The man nodded, happy to share. “They spent a fortnight in Antioch, consecrating the churches and giving thanks, then formed up again. The last news we had put them outside of Arqa.”  
  
The leader of the Franks, Richar, clearly approved of their piousness and initiative. “Who’s in charge of Antioch now then? Bohemund? Tancred?”  
  
That was met with a shrug. “Alexios theoretically, those two swore that any land conquered belonged to the empire. Baldwin’s men have been making noise but Nikephoros is probably is the true ruler of Antioch.”  
  
“Nikephoros?” The name didn’t ring a bell for Indy, but apparently it was apt.  
  
“The emperor’s son in law, he arrived three weeks ago with a few hundred knights and word of another army being formed up.”  
  
Richar raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t see that, but the Golden Horn is big enough that an army or two might be easily missed. They’ll have a rough time coming through Anatolia though, the winter grain isn’t ripe yet and the whole peninsula is picked over.”  
  
“The Romans have always known the way to march, we’ll see.”  
  
“That was when the Romans were Roman, not Greeks. I have my doubts any of the sybarites can match their forefathers.” As they rode down a Roman road still whole after a thousand years towards a city built largely by the Romans Indy couldn’t think that the Byzantines would have a hard time keeping up. With the city’s gates approaching Indy made his excuses and slowed his horse, dropping back in the procession towards the two other time travellers.   
  
“So how does Antioch measure up to the cities of the future?” Pyrrha gave the question some consideration as she studied the walls before answering.  
  
“It’s exposed.” That hadn’t been what he expected. He’d thought that the extensive fortifications built into the mountains would remind them of their homeland. Pyrrha seemed to realize that as she continued. “I can see why a city was built here, the river, the passes, the lake, but it wouldn’t be enough in our time.”  
  
“Huh.” The brief reminder of their home left the two teenagers looking glum, so Indy left them to their silence. They could wait a bit longer until they learned their goal was still further and marching on another city.  
  


* * *

  
Antioch was more than enough a city to start with in any case. It couldn’t match Constantinople of course, but they had left that city within hours of arriving. Somehow as their party climbed the winding streets towards the fortress that crowned the mountain abutting the city it seemed greater. Perhaps it was because he saw more than a single street but Antioch felt more real than anywhere in this time but Damietta. They passed several inns that seemed large enough for their band, but Richar was clearly hoping to be hosted by Nikephoros. Traveling was expensive, and the Byzantine would be forced to feed them at the very least.   
  
Something about the summit fortress was bugging him as they entered through its thick gates. It was clean, the soldiers were disciplined and the passage of a thousand years hadn’t changed the behavior of guards at their leisure. Still as he followed Richar with Jaune he couldn’t shake the feeling, until he entered into the main hall and it was abundantly clear.  
  
The castle was stripped to the rock. He could see discoloration in the stone from where paintings or other wall hangings had that protected the walls had been stripped and the remaining furniture showed signs of damage. Mount Silpius had been looted, whatever luxuries could be removed had been. It was a marked contrast to the fine stonework, the removable wealth of Antioch was gone. His thoughts carried him until their party stopped short, he could see over Richar to a Greek looking man seated upon a throne observing them.   
  
“In the name of my father, Alexios Komnenos, I welcome you to Antioch.” Nikephoros, it could be no other greeted them in Latin as he looked over the assembled Crusaders. The man was in his thirties and seemed healthy. It was hard to judge his height seated but Indy thought he was probably about his own height, making him a large man of the time. “As a Christian it gladdens my heart to see men from across the world join in our struggle.”  
  
Indy and Jaune both looked to Richar, it was his crew of knights that they’d joined up with, to see the Frank shallowly incline his head before answering in slow deliberate Latin. “We were called to serve our God, although I confess I felt it would be more a struggle. We haven’t seen a hostile Saracen yet.”  
  
A smile crossed Nikephoros’s face before vanishing. “You may yet get your chance, I confess your company’s arrival could not be better timed. However we will speak more on the matter while your men have been settled.” The Byzantine clapped, the sound calling in servants who led them to rooms or barracks depending on apparent class. Jaune’s armor’s apparent richness seemed to trick the servants into giving him and Pyrrha a nicer room, which suited Indy just fine. He left the perpetually awkward teenagers to stammer at each other and set off to further explore the castle.  
  
Antioch still had much of the Roman character to it, which made it feel familiar. Indy had been in Roman ruins from Libya to London and the fortress city fit right in. The blocky stonework was better maintained of course, but Indy could easily imagine himself back in his own time. Rounding a corner to find a group of soldiers crouched dicing did nothing to change his opinion.  
  
“Is this a private game?” A circus trick made a quarter dance across his fingers. “Or can anyone come and lose money?” His silver more than made up for his odd accent and after a few rounds he was no longer notable. Some might say his approach to finding out the lay of the land was boring, but Indy felt that talking to those with their ears closest to the ground gave the best results.   
  
He shared his assumed story, at least until he felt they were sufficiently indifferent and then focused on the rules of the game. It reminded him of craps, but the other players were happy to educate him on the more complex rules as he slowly paid out his coins. He spent the afternoon thus occupied, hearing the stories of the garrison before he breached the subject he was most curious about.  
  
“So we’ve heard a lot about Holgier-”  
  
“Enough about him.” The guard Indy had assigned the name Three-teeth spat on the floor to show his annoyance. “All anyone remembers is him riding up with that damn named square sword of his, cutter or something, and driving the Saracens out. A lot of men did as much and paid the price and we aren’t talking about them.”  
  
A more charitable gambler stopped him from continuing. “Plenty died, but I saw Holger take on ten men at once to hold the gate. He’s a-” Sudden drums interrupted him and brought the guards to their feet.  
  
“It’s a call to arms.” The men were buckling their swords on as they hurried out of the chamber, barely stopping to collect their winnings. “Our scouts reported that something was out there, guess they’re here. You’d best get your own harness on.”  
  
Getting armor seemed like an excellent idea, even if Indy was in a citadel full of allied soldiers. He rushed back to the barracks, barely pausing to hammer on the kids’ door as he passed. He threw on his heavy coat before tugging his hauberk over it. His belt holding his revolver and sword went over that and Indy had to repress a groan at the weight. He was a big man, but running around the middle east with twenty pounds of armor and padding was going to be hard work. He finished his get up with a helmet he’d grabbed in Tarsus just because it looked something like the helmet he’d worn in the War. He was hoping that its utility made up for its looks, because otherwise he’d be dying with an ill fitting bucket on his head.  
  
The other men at arms in their group were similarly getting ready, there was a frisson of excitement as they dressed themselves in steel. He could tell the veterans from the unblooded, they were the ones who were calmly going over their equipment, checking it one last time instead of boasting. A few even had food and Indy grabbed an offered chunk of bread as he followed the flow of soldiers. It had been a long day and would be longer still even with an empty stomach.   
  
The ramparts were crowded when he reached them. Pyrrha’s bright hair wasn’t visible but he didn’t doubt she was around. Jaune, Richar, and the other knights were grouped together further along the parapet, staring into the distance. Indy shouldered through the other men until he reached them and could see what they were looking at, swirls of cavalry and marching blocks of infantry under the crescent banner.  
  
“Duqaq.” Nikephoros was there too, wearing armor intricately inlaid with gold. “Or Ridwan, it makes no difference.”  
  
“Why aren’t they attacking the army in the field?” Richar was almost eager as he looked at the still distant Turks. “Surely they’d be an easier target than a garrisoned fortress.”  
  
“Antioch fell easily to us, and we didn’t know of any secret ways.” Nikephoros was calm, showing impressive sang froid for the commander of a soon to be besieged city. “They must hope to repeat our success.” He turned away and started walking towards the steps down from the walls. “They lack something important though,” he was speaking for the crowd now, his voice booming across the walls. “The support of God and the champions He has sent us!” Indy followed the Byzantine down with Jaune with the men’s cheers ringing out, but he couldn’t help throwing a last look at the approaching army and think think that the man was tempting fate. All the miracles couldn’t fall their way.


	9. Indy IX

He had only just re-entered the citadel from the walls when he felt an iron band close around his forearm. The punishing grip almost instantly slackened, but as Pyrrha dragged him out of the passageway into a storeroom he was reminded again of the students’ strength. Jaune followed them in, shouldering the door shut as it ground against the uneven stone floor. It was pitch-black for a moment, the room was built into the curtain wall, then a gleaming rectangle appeared in the boy’s hand.  
  
“What is that?” His question seemed to wrong foot them, the two exchanged a glance before Jaune passed him the glowing prism.  
  
“It’s a scroll? It lets you contact and talk to people?” Jaune’s gauntleted hand’s paused just over the glass surface, but Indy had always been a quick study. The picture, and it was a picture, of Pyrrha and Jaune and two others now that he was looking past his initial surprise, slid up. A set of digits replaced the image and Pyrrha took it, her fingers flying across the screen.  
  
“Of course Jaune’s is the only one in the world right now, there’s no one else to call. It is a nice flashlight though.” Indy wanted very much to play with the device a bit more, it was one thing to know that the kids were from a distant future, another to see proof of it. They had pulled him in here for a reason though.  
  
A few more taps, they had a little time, later he managed to draw himself back the present. “Not that I don’t appreciate the gadget, shouldn’t we be on the wall?”  
  
Illuminated only by the scroll below Pyrrha’s face took on an almost sepulchral look as she shook her head. “The city is going to fall. Nikephoros knows that and is planning to hold only the citadel.”  
  
Confronted with the certainty in her voice Indy couldn’t muster an argument. It made sense in any case. There were only a few hundred soldiers and crusaders in Antioch, and while the population wasn’t hostile it was hardly friendly. If a few hotheads inside wanted their old rulers back all they had to do was get a mob together and open a gate. With enemies inside the walls the city couldn’t hold.  
  
“So what are we doing? Do you want to run?”  
  
“We’re going to Jerusalem. Holgier Carlsen is still our best lead.” The two of them seemed far calmer about the prospect of being in a besieged city than Indy felt was strictly warranted. “But you only came this far for us, and we do appreciate it.”  
  
“You know I’m still here, stuck in a besieged city with you guys right?”  
  
“They haven’t encircled us yet, there’s still the port, St. Symeon. We can get you there, get you on a boat to somewhere without an army around it.” Jaune’s voice was calm, as if wandering through a panicked city wasn’t really a challenge. “I’m no match for Pyrrha, but I think it’s fair to say that the soldiers here aren’t too dangerous to us.” He must have seen some of Indy’s doubt in his eyes. “Besides, this isn’t the first time we’ve been in a city under attack.” He was looking at Pyrrha when he said that, an odd expression on his face.   
  
If he was hoping for a response, she didn’t give it. “If we want to get you out with a minimum of difficulty we should go now. The door shuddered open on its own at her gesture. “They’re bound to close the gates to the citadel soon.” Pyrrha strode out it without looking back. Jaune was instantly behind her, and Indy, despite his doubts, followed.  
  
Counterintuitively Pyrrha didn’t lead them to the gate, instead climbing up to the walls facing the city. Below them the streets were like a kicked anthill, men streaming into the citadel, carrying provisions, weapons and supplies. The citizens of Antioch were moving slower, some trying to get in, others moving slowly, resigned to what was about to come. They found a somewhat deserted section of the wall, most of the sentries were watching the army that was still moving in, before Pyrrha lightly hopped onto the ramparts. Jaune copied her, but Indy didn’t quite share their disregard for gravity nor their strength. He just looked through the crenellation at the ground forty feet beneath them.   
  
“At least I have a landing strategy now.” That brought a smile to Pyrrha’s face as Jaune simply stepped off the wall. He landed and looked up, completely unconcerned with the fact that a normal man should have shattered legs at best.   
  
“You can get over the rampart right?” The reality of their plan was starting to sink in to Indy and he had to fight the urge to take a step back. He didn’t doubt Pyrrha was sure she could carry him when she landed, but even a soft landing from that height would leave him at risk. If she caught him, well he’d felt the strength in her arms just minutes ago and he’d honestly prefer to take his chances with the stone.  
  
She didn’t give him the chance though, they’d finally been spotted and he suddenly felt an enormous pull on his armpits as the wall receded beneath him. “I’m sorry!” Her shout didn’t fill him with confidence as empty air swept beneath his feet. He hung steady for a terrifying moment, then dropped as Pyrrha leapt from the parapet. He fell a few feet before the pressure returned and he slowed to a halt just above the ground.  
  
Pyrrha shot him one last apologetic glance as she pulled her hood over her bright hair and stepped into the flow of bodies. Indy and Jaune moved into her wake, although Indy consoled himself he didn’t look quite as puppy like as Jaune. As they walked, Jaune attempting to gallantly clear Pyrrha’s way, Indy had time to think about their plan, if they could call it that.   
  
St. Symeon was Antioch’s port, ten miles down the Orontes. He didn’t doubt that his companions could travel the distance, but they were built of sturdier stuff. They’d need to get a boat, even before they found a ship for him. If there was a ship, a big if considering an army was bearing down on them, it still needed to go somewhere he wanted to go. With his luck he’d probably be bound for Damietta to start his sojourn over again completely.   
  
Lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice when Pyrrha and Jaune stopped, until he was just barely able to avoid running into them. “What’s wrong? Why have you stopped?”  
  
The blond’s hand was on his sword hilt, he and Pyrrha were on their toes trying to see over the crowd. “Dunno, the pressure of the crowd changed.”  
  
“They weren’t pushing as hard anymore.” Pyrrha had tensed as she spoke. Considering what he knew the girl could do anything that made her marginally nervous was a cause for concern. The screams that followed definitely were. The mob that had been pressing against them suddenly vanished, the last stragglers flowing around them as the sound of feet in lockstep echoed across the cobblestones.  
  
“How’d they get in so fast? There should have been a token force at the gates at least.” Indy only spoke to fill the air; the marchers were getting closer as were the shouts. Neither of the others were willing to answer his question, so he started thinking aloud. “The Seljuks did hold Antioch for years, maybe they left a tunnel, to bug out, or for this very reason.”  
  
“It would have been smarter if they just used that before the armies showed up, they could have taken the citadel by surprise.” Pyrrha drew her sword and shield, a flick of her wrist shifted the blade into its longer form. Even with a Turkish army bearing down on them the process was bizarre to watch, however considering the Seljuk vanguard had just charged into view it probably wasn’t the best time.  
  
Indy had been in the trenches of the Western front, he’d seen men die on six continents and helped his share along. He knew he was brave, in the way that only those tested by fire could, but that didn’t mean he was fearless. Standing flatfooted in front of line of medieval soldiers was not a situation where courage would do much. Fortuitously his companions had more than that.  
  
“Pyrrha, guard Indy!” Jaune’s shield was up as he took several long steps forward. Pyrrha clearly wanted to follow him, but she only nodded and stepped in front of him. The only sign of her nervousness was the tight figure eights the point of her spear traveled in, as well as the slightest tug on his sword. He hadn’t even noticed drawing it.  
  
Jaune’s move had not gone unnoticed. A hulking man had emerged from the front of the oncoming rush, his scimitar was spinning above his head as he warbled a battle cry. As the man sprinted Jaune seemed to lower his guard, he glanced back at Pyrrha and whatever he saw seemed to fill him with confidence. He swung back to the enemy and exploded.  
  
Indy had been somewhat jaded about what the two students could do. Seeing Pyrrha effortlessly beat Jaune time and time again had made him forget that both were far beyond the norm. Jaune’s shield smashing through the Turk and flinging him across the street to land in a crumpled heap changed that. There was a pause, as even the running soldiers seemed to question what had just happened. It cost them. He flickered forward, wide swings of his sword and shield battering his enemies to the ground.  
  
Pyrrha had had enough of waiting, rushing forward to make sure that those who got past Jaune stayed down. For a moment he only stood and watched, the girl’s motions were beautiful even as she struck with such brutality. Only the tug of her power across his mail dragged him from his stupor as the two children almost effortlessly pummeled their way through an army.   
  
They emerged from the far side, and behind them was nothing but a field of groaning bodies. Pyrrha’s spear was bloodless, but Jaune’s sword was wet. The two of them stared at it, watching the crimson drops fall and Indy was sure they’d keep looking unless he did something. His cough wasn’t particularly subtle, but it did the job. The two of them seemed to pull themselves together and Pyrrha nodded sharply. “We still need to get you a boat.”  
  
Indy tried to meet their eyes, but both found the street or sky more interesting. “Right. Let’s go then?”  
  
They were more subdued now, even as they moved far faster without the crowds impeding them. Signs of the group they’d shattered lingered, but neither of the two were looking anywhere but straight ahead. He’d wondered why Jaune had led the charge, it had seemed like Pyrrha would have been a better choice, but their reactions had told him everything. Neither of the two were killers, and in a world where their only enemies were fragile humans that couldn’t last. Maybe Jaune had thought that Pyrrha would be better at guarding Indy from anyone who got past him, or maybe he was just a boy trying to protect his girlfriend. He wouldn’t be the first one to do something dumb for that.  
  
As they rushed towards to the waterfront the city continued to be empty. Windows and doors were barricaded shut, the citizens fearing another round of looting and pillaging. It was a round Indy was sure hadn’t happened historically, the Principality of Antioch had been one of the Outremer states and now it seemed like the Seljuks were taking it back after mere months of Crusader rule.   
  
Who knew what this meant for the armies besieging Jerusalem. Antioch had once held their supply lines back to Europe and Anatolia, now it was back in Turkish hands, barring a miracle. Of course he was following two miracles down a dusty and abandoned street, so perhaps Nikephoros had a decent chance.   
  
It was almost a shock to reach the Orontes and actually see people. There was a crowd alongside the river, scrambling to load their possessions into overburdened barges. Normally he’d have given up and looked for another way out, but he didn’t normally have an armored warrior with a bloody sword pushing through crowds for him.   
  
Jaune wasn’t looking good, he was covered in dust and sweat that had stained his white armor and shield an ugly yellow. To someone who didn’t know him though, he looked dangerous, a tall and muscled knight with no willingness to put up with any irritations. “Tell them you’re getting on the boat.”  
  
Pyrrha stepped forward next and handed Indy a small bag that clinked when he took it. “I have a feeling you’re going to need this more than us. Thanks for everything.”  
  
For a moment Indy wanted to tell them not to bother, that he’d be staying, but he could already see the two of them looking back at the city. He’d gone with them because they were children and he could help, but looking after him had already cost them once. Instead he nodded and reached out to shake their hands. Jaune looked confused for a second before stabbing his sword into the rock at his feet before giving him a strong shake. Pyrrha dodged the handshake and instead gave him a brief hug before stepping away from the shore.  
  
Indy got on the boat, he didn’t want to give the other passengers any time to doubt the state of affairs, before he turned to give one last goodbye. “Be safe you two, and if Holgier doesn’t work out don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” That was met with halfhearted smiles before they both began to make their way from the crowd. The boat cast off as he watched, and the last he saw of them was Pyrrha leaping from the street to the rooftops above.  
  
He was on his own now.


	10. Indy X

Sitting on Cyprus with his only possessions held in his satchel or on his back Indy tried to think what to do next. The wine here was decent at least, and sitting in the sun on a wide terrace was a pleasant way to spend the day. One of the servers had been increasingly friendly, and he felt with a bit of effort he could count on a warm bed. Diversions such as that wouldn’t hold him for long though, he needed a plan.  
  
The Silk Road and all its mysteries still called for him, but the Eastern Mediterranean was on fire. The Crusader armies and the Seljuks would be dueling across it, and just in the week he’d been Limassol he’d seen several ships full of Frankish knights stop over on their way to the Syrian coast. He needed a way around the conflict, which meant he needed to choose north or south.  
  
Ships left Egypt bound for India, that was an option for him, but he didn’t think that the Fatamids would be any more welcoming a second time. He could try to slip through, but it was an entirely foreign land, and by taking the sea he’d be missing the true route in its entirety. He wanted to see Samarkand, Baghdad, pre-Mongolian Persia, and the roof of the world. He could pre-empt Marco Polo, but he needed to get past the wars. If the south was closed to him he’d need to go north. Constantinople beckoned, this time he’d give it a more thorough exploration.  
  
Giving the waitress a smile he drained his wine. With his goal set he didn’t feel bad about spending a few days more hedonistically.   
  


* * *

  
Sefika had been sad to see him go, but not very. She was just another pleasant memory as he strained on the oars of the ship bound for Rhodes and then onward further north. He had the funds to travel in more luxury, but the captain had needed men and had let Indy join his crew for the trip. He’d need his gold later, and rowing wasn’t truly the worst.  
  
It was even decent exercise, which was helpful when looking strong provided a measure of security. At six one he towered over most people of the era, childhood nutrition mattered, but biceps to match cemented the point. He also had the chance to practice his languages, they’d changed over the centuries and the Greek and Arabic he knew wasn’t a perfect match. Even so, it was a relief to see Rhodes rise above the horizon, after a week of rowing he was ready for a break.  
  
The Colossus was long gone of course, it fell two hundred years before the birth of Christ, but its remnants hand lingered for hundreds of years. He was still four hundred years too late, there were only three wonders of the world still extent and he’d already seen one of them. The Mausoleum of Halicarnassus was somewhat on the way, but he’d seen Grant’s Tomb. He would have liked to have made time to visit the lighthouse of Alexandria, but he still had three hundred years for that one.   
  
Indy wasn’t quite sure what the recent history of Rhodes was. He knew that it had fallen to Muslim conquerors at least once, but the Byzantines owned it now. It wasn’t being actively fought over, which was good enough for him. The ship was stopping for a day or two, enough time to learn more about the markets of Constantinople and possibly adjust their cargo to better suit local conditions.  
  
In what was his standard approach, unchanged by traveling a thousand years and far more miles, he wandered the city before finding a bar. Fisherman and merchants were the same the world around, so with a pleasant buzz he wandered confidently back into the darkening streets, carrying a two thirds empty wineskin. The cool December air was rapidly sobering him as he made his way back to the harbor, the captain let his crew sleep on the ship. It was a normal choice, it kept the men on hand if there was an emergency, and was cheaper than hiring guards. Most of the crew would spend the first night ashore, drinking and spending their wages, but they’d trickle back as their fortunes dwindled.   
  
The sea breeze was fresh, blowing away the last remnants of the wine’s haze, but it carried a hint of winter’s chill with it. Indy wasn’t sure of the precise date, but the captain hoped to get to Constantinople by Christmas. That meant December, but there was more than a week of difference between the dates of the Orthodox and Roman Catholic celebrations, so it didn’t fix the current time as closely as he’d like. It didn’t really matter, except that it could affect the departure dates of caravans headed east. It made sense that they’d want to cover the hottest portions of the trip in winter, but perhaps they’d push their exit back to spring to ensure there was abundant water. Crossing the Himalayas in the spring when the meltwater was coursing down them seemed like a terrible idea, but Indy was willing to yield to local expertise.  
  
He stopped when he reached the harbor’s edge, looking across the black water. The sky was clouded, and without searchlights or stars he could only see a hundred yards into the bay. There were torches on the walls of the forts guarding the harbor, but they were dim lights in the distance. Fog was rolling in, and in time even the torches faded out. He stood there for what could have been minutes or hours, slowly sipping his wine and enjoying the serenity.   
  
It was broken by cannon fire.  
  
He dropped the wine, adrenaline burning away all but the essentials. The ship was in the harbor and was lit by the flashes of its shot. White smoke poured from its gun ports, and in the instants of illumination he could see boats dropping into the water from its deck.   
  
He found himself sprinting for the ship, he needed his weapons, and knew that it was a race between him and the pirates. They were actual pirates, flying a Jolly Roger impossibly, and Indy decided not to worry about anachronisms as he pounded his way up the gangplank.   
  
Shrugging on his mail, strapping his scabbard to his belt and seizing his satchel was the work of seconds. He sprinted up into the town, shouting, trying to wake the defenders.  
  
“Turks! Turks are coming to kill us all!” It was more likely to be believed than the truth, but more importantly than his voice the bells of the church began to ring. Someone was awake and paying attention, of course the cannonade was probably responsible for waking everyone up.  
  
Indy wasn’t interested in fighting, not against what had to be fellow time travelers, and made his way towards the landward walls. Pirates were thieves, not conquerors, and as long as he stayed out of the way-  
  
The house before him crumbled into the street, filling the air with screams. It must have been an errant shot, or maybe a deliberate act of terror but Indy couldn’t ignore the cries. The house was mostly wood, luckily as stone would have crushed the inhabitants instantly, but the cannonball had shattered a central beam. He scrambled over the wreckage, trying to find the victims, his search crippled by the darkness.  
  
The streets were filling with the panicked citizens, the sturdiest houses were barring their doors but plenty of people had the same idea that Indy had had. He’d join them, as soon as he pulled the kids from the wreckage. The bells were maddening as their ringer hammered them, a cacophony that only added to the chaos.   
  
One beam shifted as he put his back into it, and that gave enough space for a young boy to scramble out. He didn’t look injured, but even if he was shock would numb it. He started helping, yanking away boards with no concern for his bleeding hands when the pitch of the screams changed.   
  
Indy glanced away from his task, and he could see torchlight. A girl came boiling out of the hole her brother was digging, hugging him and shouting hysterically in Greek that was too garbled to understand. He could see the torchbearers now, it was the pirates.  
  
He seized both the children and dragged them when they didn’t move. He’d get them out of the city- the boy fell from his grip. He looked down at the same time as the girl started screaming and stopped, in the darkness the mess of the boy’s head was a liquid black. He pulled her harder to try to get her moving when there was another gunshot. The girl joined her brother.  
  
Indy saw red. His revolver was in his hand before he knew what he was doing and after six shots there were five dead pirates. He turned and ran, the blood of children staining his clothes.  
  
He had almost reached the walls when he saw the commotion ahead, there were more of the pirates, menacing the crowd with muskets. The bodies at their feet showed that they’d proven the weapons worked, but Indy didn’t care, he needed an escape route.  
  
He doubled back, headed for the slums he’d seen before the day had turned to a bloody night. The pirates wouldn’t go there, not when there was gold and wealth to be found elsewhere. The narrow streets were empty, he could feel eyes on him, but the sword at his waist dissuaded anyone from being a hero. They were just doing what he was, trying to hide.  
  
A particularly dilapidated structure caught his eye, but he heard footsteps pounding after him and shouting, English shouting. He hesitated for a moment, one that was almost fatal as a pistol ball cracked the stone next to his head. Indy cursed and ran.   
  
Why were they following him? He’d killed everyone who saw him and one man in raggedy armor wasn’t a threat. He raced through the warrens, trying to outdistance his pursuers but they were catching up. He’d have to turn and fight.  
  
His pistol was empty, and he didn’t have time to reload. He looked for a spot to make his stand, an alley that would protect his back, and chose the least bad option. His sword felt unsteady in his sweaty hands, the leather wrappings slicker than he’d like. The pirates slowed as they got closer, some dropping their torches to the cobblestones. One massive African took the lead, his bald head gleaming in the firelight.  
  
One of the pirates held their torch to the side of the building making the alley, watching the flames lick at the dry wood.  
  
“Play later.” The pirate’s voice was deep as he drew his sword. “The captain will want to see this one.”  
  
The brute advanced slowly, the grip on his sword showing that he knew what he was doing. Indy darted forward, his first two slashes were blocked, but the knife in his left hand found the pirate’s stomach. He drew it sideways, and tried to shove him to clear room for the next opponent, but his enemy was still standing. The pirate forced his blade into a lock, his strength was impossible for a man who was disemboweled, but before Indy could stab him again the pirate grabbed his knife hand and yanked.  
  
Indy fell and rolled, trying desperately to get back to his feet, but the other pirates didn’t let him. His sword was kicked from his hand, and then another slammed a boot into his ribs before he stopped being able to tell the bows apart.   
  
“Stop.” The voice seemed to be echoing from the bottom of well. “I want him alive.” Rough hands dragged him to his feet and turned him. It was the dead pirate speaking, the one whose intestines should be dragging on the ground. He grabbed Indy by the jaw with one massive hand and stared down at him. “A little pain though?” He let go and before Indy could do anything his fist flashed forward. The world went dark.


	11. Indy XI

Indy woke when a pail of water was thrown at him, followed shortly by the wooden pail. He dragged open his eyes, the saltwater burning them and his open cuts but when he saw where he was he wished he’d kept them shut.  
  
His arms were bound in front of him, and he could feel restraints on his legs, but the real problem was the cannon he was wrapped around. The muzzle was digging into his stomach, and his eyes traced the barrel back until he could see the fuse, a pristine white cotton cord. His eyes kept rising as he saw a gleeful pirate holding a smoldering slow match. The pirate inclined his head to the left, and without further prompting Indy looked in the direction indicated.  
  
There were others tied to cannons, none of whom seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.  
  
“Give them an example.”  
  
The voice carried across the deck, and the man Indy had somehow failed to kill nodded and shouted a command. “Fire number one.” The unlucky victim watched his executioner approach, not understanding what the match was for but still terrified. He looked almost relieved when the pirate brought the match to the fuse as opposed to singing him, he died with a look of faint hope on his face. The others screamed and struggled, but sailors knew their knots and none could get free.  
  
Indy just tried to relax, he was in a bad spot, but he’d gotten out of worse. It did make him wish he’d stayed with the kids and stormed Jerusalem, but second guessing never helped anyone.  
  
“Let them think it over for a few moments, all but that one.” Indy finally got a look at the speaker, who was of course pointing at him. With his large hat and elaborate wig, to say nothing of the monkey on his shoulder, he should have looked ridiculous. Indy could see his eyes though, the pirate wasn’t a man to laugh at. “Bring him to my stateroom, no need to worry about his looks though.” The pirates laughed as they roughly pulled him from the cannon, dragging him across the deck towards the stern.  
  
They went beneath the halfdeck into a cabin where his guards threw him to the floor. When Indy tried to stand a kick knocked him over. The blow ignited a throbbing in his ribs, one that was matched by a pounding in his head. Footsteps behind him made him turn, this time no more blows were forthcoming.  
  
The captain walked around him, fastidiously stepping over the puddle that Indy’s drenched clothes had produced. He sat behind his desk, and polished an apple as he stared down at him.  
  
“Doctor Henry Jones Junior.” The pirate took a bite from the apple, and chewed it messily. “It is a pleasure to meet a man of learning. I fancy myself something of a classicist, so this is an unexpected windfall.” Indy wasn’t at all a fan of captains with historical ambitions, but he’d happily listen to a thousand lectures from the master of the  _Salaminia_  to not be here.  
  
“You have me at something of a disadvantage.” That got a grin, showing bits of apple skin caught in the pirate’s teeth.  
  
“Quite. Well Doctor, I’m Captain Hector Barbossa of the Black Pearl.”  
  
“Charmed.”  
  
“Of course. So, tell me,” Barbossa opened a drawer and pulled Indy’s revolver from it. “In the future are all doctors so well armed?” He sighted down the barrel at Indy, and he could see that the bullets had been replaced. “The balls seem awfully small. I’d imagine a man could just get up and walk off a gut shot.” The African snorted.  
  
“Some men would disagree with that assessment.”  
  
“I’m not concerned with ‘some men’ Dr. Jones.” He set the pistol down and picked up Indy's notebook from his satchel, lazily flipping through it. “’Some men’ don’t travel through time in a flash of light, ‘some men’ don’t run into demigods from the future, ‘some men’ don’t chase the Ark of the Covenant.” Barbossa waved at his crewman who was wearing the headpiece as a medallion. “My first mate will get the chance now I suppose.”  
  
It was a blow to lose it, but compared to everything else it hardly registered. “What do you want then?”  
  
“Not too much, perhaps just the kingdoms of the world and all their glories.” Barbossa leaned back in his chair. “It’s an interesting time we’re in. East fighting west, armies marching across the world, and such times provide opportunities.”  
  
“One ship of buccaneers can’t conquer Europe.”  
  
“If any ship can, this one will. Besides,” he opened the notebook, “I’ve got an edge, and unlike old Priam I’m not going to ignore prophecy.” Barbossa frowned momentarily. “I’ll admit the metaphor is a bit of a stretch but”-  
  
“I’d rather not be Cassandra in any respect.”  
  
“I’m certainly not going to be Agamemnon to you.” The pirate turned gesturing at a bookshelf. “I wonder if we’ll find anything else by Aeschylus, so much was lost for lack of care, perhaps we can do better this time.”  
  
Indy couldn’t help himself from responding sarcastically. “Piracy has of course been a net positive over the years.”  
  
“You scoff doctor, but we’re no longer pirates.”  
  
“How’s that?”  
  
“It’s appropriate that we’re in the Aegean for this.” Barbossa nodded to his hulking first mate. “Want to enlighten the Doctor, Ajax?”  
  
“’The strong do what they will, the weak suffer what they must’. Rhodes is ours.” Each word sounded forced from the brute’s throat.  
  
“Ajax has a fine appreciation for rhetoric, and of course we all enjoy Thucydides.” Barbossa returned to his seat. “I expect after I sink a fleet or three diplomacy will look attractive.”  
  
“Rhodes is hardly the world.”  
  
“No, but from it I can stride forth. The price I charge for cooperation will pay for America, and Cortez showed the way to conquer it.”  
  
“It will be a pleasure to burn the temples of their heathen gods.” Barbossa smiled at Ajax’s interjection.  
  
“Indeed. Crucifying every last Aztec will be just the start.” He clapped his hands briskly. “Now show Dr. Jones to the brig, and bring in the former mayor. That was enough fun, we have work to do.”  
  
Ajax pulled Indy from his knees and tossed him to two waiting crewmen, one with a particular disturbing false eye. “Send him below.”  
  
They took over dragging him, but without the first mate’s brute strength they had to let him walk. They led him past the prisoners still fixed to their cannons before descending into the hold. The smell wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, probably due to the ocean breeze, but as they dropped further it approached it. The brig was almost empty, there was just one man sitting slumped on a bench. He tilted his head back to watch as they opened the cage and thrust Indy in, but past a raised eyebrow he didn’t further react. Only after they’d been left alone did he speak.  
  
“Who’re you?”  
  
“Indiana Jones.” Indy didn’t sit on the bench, instead examining the iron walls of the cell.  
  
“Don’t bother, as a connoisseur of prisons I can state that the door is not held by half-pin barrel hinges.” Indy had to stop and turn.  
  
“What does that even mean?”  
  
“Hell if I know, just that they don’t pop off easier than a whore’s dress.” The man leaned forward, “but as you look would you mind answering a few questions?”  
  
After giving the bars a fruitless rattle Indy decided to trust his cell mate. “Sure.”  
  
“Splendid. Where are we?” The man’s grin revealed more gold than modern dental hygiene required.  
  
“Rhodes. And who are you?”  
  
“The Med? How’d we get past Gibraltar?”  
  
Indy slowly answered the rhetorical question. “It’s not there yet. Didn’t they tell you anything?”  
  
“I’ve been left in the dark you could say.”  
  
“We’re in the eleventh century, the last few years of it. Something brought us through time.”  
  
“When and where did you come from then?”  
  
“Egypt, nineteen-thirty-six.”  
  
The man sat up straight, for the first time fully paying attention. “Then I have a question, have you ever heard tell of Captain Jack Sparrow?”  
  
Indy ran his mind back to over the mariners in the pirate era. Past Blackbeard he couldn’t think of any. “Nope. That you?”  
  
“Evidently I changed my name. You’d have heard of me.”  
  
“If you say so.” He sank onto the bench next to Sparrow, and then immediately moved a little further away. “How’d you end up in here?”  
  
“It’s a long story full of true love and treachery, but to sum up Barbossa mutinied and left me on a barren island.” Sparrow sighed dramatically.  
  
“Yet you’re here.”  
  
The captain threw up his hands, displaying tattoos, one that stood out to Indy. “Events ensued.”  
  
“I imagine that you’re not content to end your story in a cell.”  
  
“You’re welcome to join in my inevitable escape, free of charge.” The pirate made the offer as if it physically pained him.  
  
“Same to you.”  
  
“Then we have an accord Indiana.” He leaned back against the damp hull of the ship that formed one side of the cell. “But until then, stay quiet. Our captors were rude enough to interrupt my nap, and without it I’d rather not escape.”  
  
Sparrow appeared to drop off instantly, and Indy gave the cell another look. It could be worse, he was only imprisoned. Screams from above were faintly audible, then another cannon shot shook the ship. It sounded like Barbossa’s lesson hadn’t sunk in so he was trying repetition. He needed to get off this ship.


End file.
